


Eye-Sight, Space, and Liberty

by pieandsouffles



Series: Our Winter Romance [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Bonding, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Fluff, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Kirk, M/M, Marriage, Mind Rape, Protective!Spock, Rape Aftermath, T'hy'la, Torture, ngl these are weird tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:31:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pieandsouffles/pseuds/pieandsouffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim and Spock found love over Christmas - but can it withstand the trials of life on a starship?  When Jim is captured and tortured by enemy forces, their bond will face its first true test. Can they move on with their relationship - or will the actions of a madman tear them apart?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Grace

**Author's Note:**

> The backstory here will make more sense if you read "I've Got My Love (to keep me warm)" but it isn't necessary to read it to understand this fic. *Edit: no actually please read it before you read this fic, there are a lot of parallels that will just make everything way more poetic and cute if you do so. I mean, again, not necessary, but HIGHLY HIGHLY recommended. 
> 
> The title is from William Shakespeare's King Lear: Goneril, Scene 1, Act 1: "Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter; / Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; / Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; / No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour; / As much as child e'er loved, or father found; / A love that makes breath poor, and speech unable; / Beyond all manner of so much I love you."

_This is boring._

James T. Kirk heard Spock’s mental sigh through their bond; Spock didn’t turn from the Science station, where he had been diligently reviewing reports for the past four hours of Alpha shift.

_Nothing.  There has been, literally, nothing to do for twelve days, Spock.  Twelve!_

_Twelve days, three hours, and seventeen minutes, to be precise._

Jim shifted restlessly in his chair.  _Give me milk runs, give me taxiing ambassadors to and from planets or starbases, but for god’s sake, don’t give me two weeks of star charting.  I’m gonna go crazy, Spock.  I gotta do something._

_Would you like to spar with me after the conclusion of Alpha shift?_

Jim glanced down at his PADD to find there was only a half hour left before their replacements would show up.  Yeah, he could definitely go for some physical exercise – although sparring wasn’t exactly what sprung immediately to mind. 

_You are insatiable._

_What can I say, Spock, I love you for your body._

_Jim, we already engaged in sexual congress this morning._

_Mmm, say “sexual congress” again.  It gets me hot._

_Perhaps it would be best if we spent some time with the crew – in the gym, performing an exercise which we engaged in prior to establishing a romantic relationship._

Jim thought that one over, and figured Spock probably had a point.  Upon returning from holiday leave on Terra, he and Spock had determined that it would be best for everyone if they didn’t announce their relationship until they were formally bonded on Vulcan.  By doing so, Starfleet would be hard-pressed to separate them without causing considerable mental strain to the best command team in the fleet.  Spock had explained to Jim that, although Vulcan bonds could withstand long distances in case of travel or occupational obligations, it would be difficult to separate bondmates for extended periods of time.  Jim wasn’t sure if Spock was bullshitting him or not, but let it slide.  For right now, it wasn’t a problem. 

Luckily, Spock and Jim shared a bathroom, so it wasn’t really an issue for them to spend nights together in Jim’s room, with its marginally larger bed.  Still, Jim was looking forward to having official, shared quarters with his XO, including a bigger bed that would be better accommodated to sleeping two men.  They had managed to keep their relationship quiet and (hopefully) unnoticed by the crew, although there was nothing they could do about the senior staff except hope that none of them let slip their secret while drunk on Scotty’s homebrew (that Jim definitely didn’t know about).

It had been difficult for Jim to hide their relationship.  He’d already been in the habit of touching Spock – friendly pats on the back, playful nudges in the side – before their relationship began.  There had been a period of time, shortly after their return to the _Enterprise_ , where Jim had been wary of any and all physical contact with Spock; his bondmate had eventually pointed out that becoming more distant would merely cause greater suspicion.  He tried to refrain from touching Spock’s hands whenever possible, and avoided skin-to-skin contact unless it was absolutely necessary. 

_Yeah, sounds good.  Ready to have your ass kicked?_

_Jim, I need not remind you that I have won the last seven of our matches._

_Yeah, but during that eighth match –_

_Are you referring to the incident during which you managed to transmit an explicitly sexual fantasy through the bond, thereby distracting me and allowing you to obtain victory?_

_…Yeah.  Still counts, though._

Spock turned his head slightly, so that it was angled towards Jim.  _I rather think not._

 _Okay, okay, fine,_ Jim relented, returning his attention to the various reports that had he had been avoiding for the past several hours.  Seeing as nothing was fucking _happening_ , the reports, already tedious on the best days, had become downright mind-numbing.  Although Jim was a master of procrastination, even he could acknowledge when he had let something sit a little too long.  He sighed heavily, drawing glances from a few members of the crew, and began to review the supply list that had been submitted by Bones that morning. 

“Captain.”

Jim started, glaring up at Spock, who had appeared by his side seemingly out of nowhere.  “Damn it, Spock, give a man some warning.”

His XO raised one eyebrow and cast a pointed glance around the bridge.  Jim followed his gaze to find that Alpha shift must have ended, seeing as the replacements for most stations were already in place. 

“Oh,” Jim said, surprised that the time had passed so quickly.  “Let’s go, then.”

“You may find, Captain, that the progression of time appears to move at a much more rapid rate when you are occupied with work,” Spock said as they entered the turbolift. 

“Can it, Spock,” Jim laughed, reaching out with his fingers and touching them briefly to his bondmate’s.  He felt Spock’s pleasure race through the bond; his own cock twitched in response, remembering the activities of the morning. 

“Jim,” Spock admonished as they exited the turbolift and made for the locker rooms. 

“Problem, Mr. Spock?” Jim asked as they passed into the cover of the locker rooms and he began to remove his shirt. 

“Negative,” Spock replied curtly, his eyes sweeping Jim’s naked torso with interest. 

They both dressed in loose athletic pants and shirts and made their way back to their preferred corner of the gym; it was partially blocked by a wall so they would be less noticed by the other crew members. 

 _Ready?_ Jim asked, grinning as he did so.  Spock’s face was impassive, his posture rigid, a perfect statue that yet was capable of moving with astonishing speed and incapacitating opponents with frightening grace. 

 _Affirmative,_ Spock said, and they began to dance.  Jim slowly circled Spock, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, but finding no fault in his bondmate’s defenses.  He didn’t want to have to resort to sending Spock lewd fantasies again, but if nothing opened up –

Suddenly, there was a foot flying at his side, which he barely managed to block with his forearm; the blow was rapidly followed by one directly to his solar plexus, and Jim staggered back, breathless and defenseless.  Spock had him pinned in three seconds, executing a rather elaborate hold that required a wide swath of his skin to touch Jim’s arm.  Reluctant to end the contact, Jim tapped out, and Spock helped him to his feet. 

“That was careless,” Spock said, returning to his original position.  “You must not allow other thoughts to interfere with your concentration.”

“Yeah, well, it’s kinda hard, with you standing there like that,” Jim gasped, still struggling to inhale. 

“I fail to understand your meaning, Captain,” Spock said, and his face was such a perfect mask that, had Jim not known him so intimately, he would’ve thought Spock serious. 

A few curls of the Vulcan’s chest hair were peeking out over the low-slung crew neck, and Jim’s gaze kept wandering back to them as he considered his bondmate’s well-muscled torso.  Not to mention the fact that Spock looked _awesome_ in those pants – the way they hung on his hips was just unfair. 

“Okay, c’mon, let’s go again,” Jim said, gathering himself for another attempt on Spock.

Twenty seconds later, he was flat on his back, the victim of a perfectly executed, incredibly elaborate throw.  Spock had pinned Jim’s head between his arms, and where Jim should have feared for his safety, he found himself perfectly relaxed.  Spock would never hurt him, at least, not intentionally.  Jim gently tapped Spock’s leg, and he was again released and pulled to his feet. 

“Wow, Commander, that was amazing!” Jim and Spock turned in surprise to see a young ensign watching their sparring.  Frankly, Jim was shocked; nobody had ever interrupted them before, and it was a little jarring to remember that he and Spock weren’t the only ones using the gym. 

“Do you think you could show me how to do that throw?” he asked, eyes gleaming.  Jim stiffened immediately; the man was Ensign Peters, he remembered, a 22 year old, fresh out of the Academy, security personnel.  Instinctively, Jim wanted to shout at him, to tell him to go away and leave him and Spock in peace, but he was aware the behavior would be seen not only as rude but also as unusual coming from the Captain.  It was only natural he encourage his younger crewmembers to learn how to properly defend themselves, particularly a member of security.  They seemed to die on away missions with alarming regularity.

Spock threw an uncertain glance in Jim’s direction.  “I am not sure-”

“Aw, go on, I’ll watch,” Jim said, leaving the exercise mat and taking up a position against the wall.  Spock still looked unsettled, but led the ensign through the motions necessary for the maneuver.  Despite Spock’s impressive ability to teach hand-to-hand combat with little physical contact, Jim couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy every time Spock would reach out a hand to move Peters’ shoulders into place.  By the end of a tense five minutes, Jim’s body was thrumming with envy as he observed Peters manhandle his bondmate, performing the throw flawlessly. 

“Nice move, Peters,” Jim said as he moved forward, off the wall.  The ensign was flustered, clearly surprised that the Captain knew his name.  He also seemed to have realized that he had (rather rudely, Jim thought) cut into Jim’s practice time with Spock. 

“Thank you, Captain,” he said courteously, and then hurriedly exited the room. 

_What is wrong?_

Of course Spock could sense his anger, Jim thought.  Spock always knew, even before the bond, when Jim was upset. 

“Nothing,” Jim responded aloud, aggressively launching himself into the fight.  He dodged a cut to his jaw and lashed out with a kick to Spock’s side; his bondmate simply sidestepped the attack and counterstruck with a kick of his own.  “Just, you know,” Jim worked to reduce the distance between them, knowing that Spock’s lithe, agile limbs often gave him the advantage in a fight, “the fact that your hands,” as Jim turned his dominating style towards ju-jitsu, Spock was having a more difficult time keeping up, infrequently parrying attacks, “were all over him.”  Jim landed a series of blows to Spock’s ribs, and his bondmate buckled in pain. 

Jim took advantage of the situation, kneeing Spock in the side and locking him into what Jim considered to be an unbreakable hold.  Spock, however, must have seen something Jim did not, for suddenly Jim was on his back, Spock’s entire front pressed against his, cocks rubbing together through the thin fabric of their athletic pants. 

They were both breathing heavily, their heaving chests perfectly in sync.  Jim pushed his hips up slightly, and was rewarded with a small gasp from Spock, who merely pushed down further on Jim’s shoulders in retaliation. 

 _I can feel your jealousy,_ Spock said.  _It is needless._

 _Doesn’t mean I have to like it when you put your hands all over another man,_ Jim said, tapping at Spock’s arm to let him know it was all right to let him up.  As if suddenly remembering they were in the gym and not in their quarters, Spock rose quickly, again offering Jim a hand up. 

 _I do not believe you have much choice in the matter_ , Spock said as they headed back to the locker rooms.

 _No, I guess not.  You know, you do make an awesome teacher, though.  We should do a seminar on hand-to-hand.  Sometimes I think the Academy stresses phaser fights too much – it’s not like this stuff isn’t valuable._ Jim smiled politely at some crewmembers who were huddled in a mass in the locker rooms, looking over something on a PADD.  _I dunno_ , he continued, gathering his things.  _What do you think?_

 _I believe it would be beneficial,_ Spock said, pulling on a spare undershirt. 

 _Okay, good._ “Gentlemen,” Jim said aloud as they passed the crewmembers on their way out.  The lot of them started nervously, and Jim and Spock were followed by several murmured greetings as they exited the room. 

“Weird,” Jim said as they entered the lift to return to their quarters.  “I wonder what was on that PADD that they didn’t want us knowing about.”

“I believe that the appropriate phrase here, Jim, is, “the less you know, the better.”  Possibly it had something to do with breaking regulations.”

“Probably,” Jim conceded as they arrived on their floor.  “Now,” he said, keying in the code to his quarters, “what exactly was it you were saying about my “needless” jealousy?  Because,” Jim paused as they entered the room, ensuring that the doors had closed behind Spock, “I’m still feeling a bit sore about it.” 

He dove for Spock’s lips, but the Vulcan acted faster, pushing him up against a wall with his superhuman strength.  Spock’s lips met Jim’s in a frenzied clash of teeth and tongue, the kiss sloppy and harsh and aggressive and _perfect_.  Jim felt his hips beginning to move, rutting against the air, and he forced his hands away from where they had buried themselves in Spock’s hair, down to the curve of his bondmate’s ass. 

Spock let out a growl at Jim’s touch, and just like that, his cock was fully hard and leaking against the inside of his regulation boxer shorts. 

“Wanna-”

Jim felt Spock’s understanding through their bond, and then Spock’s chest was flush against his own, and they were tearing at each other’s shirts with increased fervor.  Distantly, as if through water, Jim heard his shirt rip (and Jesus _fuck_ why did his shirts _always fucking rip_ what kind of shit material were they made from) and then Spock’s lips were pressed to his collarbone and travelling lower, mapping out his pectoral muscle. 

Dizzy with arousal, Jim began to grasp blindly at the band of Spock’s athletic pants, finally allowing him to work his hand inside and close his fingers over Spock’s leaking cock.  He could feel Spock’s arousal through the bond, and it was also his own; their moans were simultaneous as Jim began to move his hand up and down Spock’s length, spreading the pre-come that was already flowing from the tip. 

And then, in a motion so swift Jim barely caught it, Spock had disengaged and was crossing the room, headed towards Jim’s nightstand. 

“Spock-” Jim began to complain, cock swollen and pulsing with blood, but ceased when he saw what Spock had gone to retrieve – the bottle of lube that they kept stashed in the top drawer of the nightstand.  Jim’s throat closed up and he felt another bead of pre-come stain his boxer shorts as Spock stalked back towards him, eyebrows drawn together and eyes predatory, clouded with lust. 

“Turn around,” he rasped out, usually steady voice made uneven and low with desire.  Jim swallowed thickly, but did as he was told, bracing himself against the wall. 

“You were thinking about this today, were you not?” Spock whispered into Jim’s ear as he slid a slicked finger into Jim.  He gasped at the intrusion, but leaned back into Spock’s touch as his bondmate began to stretch him out, teasing at his prostate.  “On the _bridge_.”  The way he emphasized “bridge” made it sound like a dirty word, and Jim moaned, forehead falling against the wall, focusing on the way Spock’s fingers were digging into his hip, leaving bruises in their wake. 

“Yes,” he admitted, and his voice was weak with pleasure.  His knees almost gave out as Spock added a second finger and began to scissor them in earnest. 

“You thought of me, penetrating you against the windows of the Observation Deck,” Spock continued, inserting a third finger for good measure.  Jim felt his entire body shudder at the way Spock’s lips formed the word “penetration;” thinking desperately that he had to have Spock’s dick inside him _right the fuck now_ otherwise he would probably _die._  

“Yeah,” he said, closing his eyes as he felt the head of his bondmate’s cock nudge at his entrance.  As Spock began to push inside, gently, Jim felt his body welcome Spock’s length, stretching and burning just slightly.  Spock wrapped one arm around Jim’s waist and, panting slightly, slid home. 

“You were thinking about having intercourse so brutal that you would not be able to sit in the Chair the next day without discomfort,” Spock whispered as he began to move languorously, slowly, allowing Jim time to get used to the sensation. 

“Yes, Spock, _fuck_ , yes,” Jim panted, reaching down with one hand to touch himself, attempt to alleviate the building pressure on his own cock. 

And then Spock’s hand was on his, entangling their fingers in a Vulcan kiss.  “Do not touch yourself,” he commanded, beginning to increase the speed of his movements.  Jim reluctantly returned his arm to the wall. 

“I would have your thoughts.”

“Take-” Jim cried out in pleasure as Spock hit his prostate.  “Take them!”

Spock’s spare hand, the one that was not braced against the wall, helping to hold them in place, settled on Jim’s meld points, and everything was magnified. 

Jim was at once fucking and being fucked; he could feel the cool sensation of his own skin against the furnace that was Spock; his bondmate’s pleasure was his own, and he felt Spock reach for those centers in his mind that he had once mentioned, what seemed like ages ago, in an Iowa farmhouse. 

 _And I would fuck you, ashayam,_ Jim heard himself cry out at Spock’s use of profanity, more pre-come dribbling from the head of his cock, _long and slow and hard against that viewport._

And they were there, looking out at the stars, Jim’s breath fogging the window and their moans and breathy sighs filling the air, reaching into the dark corners of the Observation Deck, just Jim and Spock and space and their ship.

_I would fuck you until you were sore, until you could not walk for the feeling of my cock in your ass._

Jim was hyperventilating, throat constricting with Spock’s words: his bondmate _knew_ he had a thing for dirty talk and dammit, that was just unfair. 

 _You would leave here with the marks of my teeth on your shoulders, your neck,_ he punctuated these statements with small bites into the soft skin of Jim’s neck, licking unapologetically at the bruises that began to form, _and they could be seen when you were in uniform, and the crew would know that you belong to me, that you are mine and that I would kill anyone if they touched you._

Jim shuddered, hips thrusting frantically back into Spock, attempting to drive his bondmate deeper inside of him.  _Yes, yes, yours, yes.  Want it, want that._

 _You shall have it_ , Spock said, his thrusting becoming increasingly erratic with Jim’s heightened pleasure.  Finally, his hand closed around Jim’s cock, pumping in time with his movements.  _Come for me, t’hy’la._

Jim obeyed, knees buckling as his vision went white and his body convulsed around Spock.  Through the bond, he felt Spock’s release, sending Jim into a second orgasm, more powerful than the first.  His legs gave way, but Spock caught him before he hit the ground, holding him close as his vision came back to him.  His own quarters rematerialized around him, and he twisted in Spock’s arms to pull his bondmate into a brief kiss. 

“Are you all right?” Spock asked, rubbing absentmindedly at the marks he had left in Jim’s flesh. 

“Better than all right,” Jim replied, body thrumming with contentment.  “I’m fucking perfect.” 

“I believe it would be a wise idea to shower,” Spock prompted, and Jim noted with distaste the way their bodies were sticking together.

“Agreed.”

“That was not meant as a euphemism,” Spock added as Jim stripped off the rest of his shirt (it was in tatters across his chest) and stepped out of his athletic pants (which had laid pooled around his ankles). 

“Understood,” Jim laughed, stepping into the warmth of a real water shower, Spock close behind.  


	2. Honour

“Captain.”

_Jim paused at the sound of his name.  They were in the backyard of the farmhouse, building snowmen – Spock’s hair was coated with a fine dusting of snow, falling in lazy drifts from the sky.  His cheeks were flushed pale green, lips parted slightly as he laughed.  Jim was entranced; Spock never laughed, and the way his face shone when he smiled was beautiful.  Jim wished he could see that more often.  Spock must have spoken his name, he thought, and continued making his snowman._

“Captain, come in.”

Come on, Jim thought desperately, that _has_ to be in the dream.  There was no _fucking way_ someone could be comming him this early in the morning.  They were _star charting_ , for Christ’s sake – what was there to wake him up about?  He burrowed further into Spock’s embrace and pressed his nose against his bondmate’s neck.

Abruptly, a different voice came in over the comm.  “Dammit, Jim, if you don’t answer, I’m gonna grab a hypospray and-”

“NO!  I’m awake, I’m awake,” Jim shouted, sitting upright so quickly his head spun.  Next to him, Spock’s eyes glittered with amusement in the darkened room.  Jim glared back at him as he reached for his pants. 

_Dick.  You could’ve woken me up._

_Seeing as there were no klaxons blaring, I assumed the matter was not urgent._

_Still a dick._ “Bones, what’s going on?”

“There’s a distress signal coming in from a nearby planet.  Class M.  They need you on the bridge.” 

“Fuck,” Jim swore.  “All right, give me a few minutes.  Kirk out.”

Spock was already out of bed, pulling on his blue tunic over his undershirt and handing Jim his boots. 

“Thanks,” Jim murmured, throwing on his own shirt and running his fingers distractedly through his hair.  “What’re you thinking?”

“I will need to further inspect the signal,” Spock said, crossing to the bathroom door so he could exit from his own quarters so as to avoid suspicion. 

“Of course, yeah,” Jim said.  “Let’s go, then.”

He rode the turbolift alone, and when he emerged onto the bridge, the air was thick with tension.  Jim was altogether unsurprised to see Uhura seated at the communications station. 

“Lieutenant, report.” 

“Unidentified distress signal, Captain,” she said distractedly, fingers flying over the station.  “I’m trying to open up a line of communication with them, but I’m getting static.”

“Sulu, how close are we to the planet?”

“It should be on the viewscreen momentarily, Captain.”

“Initial scans indicate a highly toxic atmosphere with a gravity similar to that of Terra’s.  It is as of yet unclear if the air quality would negatively affect human life.”

Jim turned slightly in his chair to see Spock working diligently at the science station, and sent a wave of affection pouring through their bond. 

“Noted, Mr. Spock.  Anything, Uhura?”

“No – wait – sir, I think I have something.” 

“Do you have a visual?” 

“No, sir, it’s an audio transmission.  Hold on – there,” she said, and sound flooded the bridge as the planet emerged on the viewscreen. The atmosphere was dark and stormy, lightning flashing in the planet’s northern hemisphere.  Jim was immediately reminded of Qo’noS, and his stomach sank through the floor at the voice coming in over the speakers. 

It was Klingon. 

“They request an audience with the Captain,” Uhura translated, face twisted in concentration.  “They state that their intentions are merely to discuss the Captain’s previous incursion into Klingon space… they must speak with him alone, or…” she paused.  “They have photon torpedoes locked onto our location.  Their planet’s magnetic field is somehow… interfering, I think, with our warp capability.  If we don’t beam down the Captain – and only the Captain – within ten minutes… we will die.”

A collective groan rose from the crew as Uhura finished her translation, but Jim remained impassive in the chair.  Spock rose fluidly and moved to stand at his side.

“Spock, can humans breathe down there?”

“The data indicate that prolonged exposure to the atmosphere may result in lung damage.  I estimate, however, that it would take at least one day for any such damage to occur.”

“Fantastic,” Jim said, standing and pressing his comm badge.  “Bones, come in.”

Bones sounded ready to march down to the bridge and declare the Captain unfit for duty.  “Jim, please tell me you aren’t-”

“I need you standing by.  Things are probably gonna get bad down there.”  Bones began to splutter a protest, but Jim cut him off.  “Kirk out.”

The entire bridge crew had gone silent, staring at Spock.  Jim faced the viewscreen, determinedly not looking at the murderous expression he was certain was gracing the features of his bondmate.

“Spock, before you say anything-”

“I cannot allow you to do this, Captain.  There must be another way.  A third option.”

Jim heaved a sigh and turned to Spock, whose eyes were dark with rage and an emotion Jim could not identify.  Their bond was thrumming a low red, panic and anger seeping through Spock’s hastily erected mental barriers.  “Scotty,” Jim said, pressing his comm badge for a second time, “how is it looking down there?”

“Ah, Cap’n, I cannae explain what happened – the engines!  They just cut out!”

“How long will it take you to get them running again?”

“I cannae seem to find the problem, Cap’n.  Once I can diagnose it, a couple a hours, maybe, if the crew works fast.”

“Thanks, Scotty.  Kirk out.”

Jim turned to Spock, a grim determination on his face.  “Nothing we can do, Spock.  You are to wait two hours, and if I have not commed or returned, you contact Starfleet and let them know what happened.  Let them send in backup.  You are not, under any circumstances, to attempt a rescue mission.” 

“Captain, we’re in deep space.  The nearest Starfleet vessel is probably-”

Jim held up a hand, and Uhura’s mouth snapped shut.  “I’m aware, Lieutenant.  Spock,” he said, turning back to his bondmate and wishing there was no wall between their minds, “you have the conn.”

As Jim departed the bridge, Spock stubbornly followed him into the turbolift.  As soon as the doors had shut, the Vulcan rounded on his bondmate, cheeks flushed with fury.  “Captain, this is entirely irrational.  You cannot beam down alone; you have no guarantee that they will not harm you.  I will not let you risk your life so rashly.”

“Spock, either I go down there,” Jim said as they stepped out of the turbolift, “or every single person on this ship dies.  We have no way to escape, and our shields aren’t gonna hold against Klingon weaponry.  And if I don’t come back,” he whispered, “you get her the fuck _out_ of here.”

“Jim,” Spock continued relentlessly, following close behind the Captain as he entered the transporter room, “I implore you to reconsider.  Allow me to go in your stead.”

“You heard them, Spock!” Jim exclaimed, voice rising slightly.  “If I don’t go, they will _blow up the ship_.”

“Jim, you do not believe in no-win scenarios.”

“Spock,” Jim sighed as he stepped onto the transporter.  “What is it you always say?  _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one_.  I’ll comm you when I know what it is they want to discuss.  If you don’t hear from me – well… you know what to do.”  He turned to the Ensign at the controls. 

“Jim, please-”

“Energize.” 

As light began to encircle him, he heard Spock push a simple message through their mental link:

_I love you._

 

The first thing Jim noticed when he materialized on the planet was how difficult it was to breathe.  The air was thick with noxious fumes, and he was overcome with a fit of coughing as soon as he inhaled. 

“Captain Kirk.”  The voice was low, thickly accented, and coming from behind him.

Jim whirled around in alarm, eyes watering, to find himself face-to-face with three enormous Klingons.  They were standing amidst a barren expanse of rock, and several stone structures appeared to be standing some distance off to Jim’s left.  A flash of lightning illuminated the gray sky overhead, and Jim realized suddenly that the storm may prevent a transporter bean from reaching him, or his communicator from working.  He was entirely at the mercy of the Klingons. 

“I am Koloth, Captain of the IKS-”

“There’s no need for introductions.  You know my name, you know my face; now let my crew go, and we might be able to discuss the issues at hand with something resembling civility.”

Koloth’s eyes darkened at Jim’s interruption.  “I am afraid it will not be that simple, Captain Kirk.  The Klingon Empire demands an explanation as to why three D-4 Class patrol ships were destroyed by a Starfleet operative.”

“Oh, for Christ’s – he was a war criminal!” Jim shouted, and immediately regretted the action; his throat burned and his eyes began to water again.  “He also killed many of our men, some of whom were great warriors in their time.”

“Do you take us for fools, Captain?” Koloth growled.  “The Federation has desired war with the Klingon Empire since First Contact.  You have information on the Federation’s battle plans.  With the intelligence you possess, I can give the Klingon Empire an advantage in the war.”

“No, no you’ve got it all wrong.  We don’t want war with your people; that was all Admiral Marcus, it’s not my fault Khan attacked you, that your people died!  You’re overreacting-”

Jim realized his mistake a split second after he spoke the world “overreacting,” and right before Koloth’s fist slammed into his skull, blackness overtaking him.

 

Consciousness returned to Jim slowly and, above all, painfully.  He was first mindful of a throbbing in his head, a pain so deep it seemed to seep into the very center of his brain, pulsing with each heartbeat.  He became aware of something cold wrapped around his wrists and ankles, and thought his arms might be suspended above his head, but he could not determine which way was up. 

When his eyes finally decided to respond to his commands, Jim wished he had just kept them shut.  He was in a dim room, a cube paved with smooth gray stone, windowless and dank.  The door was no more modern than the rest of the room, made presumably with reinforced steel or some other impenetrable metal.  It would be nearly impossible to escape.  His head gave a particularly nasty throb and he slammed his eyes shut again, embracing the darkness behind his eyes with pleasure.  He realized, quite abruptly, that he was kneeling, the stone floor of the room digging into his knees uncomfortably. 

How long had he been out?  Thirty minutes?  An hour?  Longer?  He reached for the bond in order to communicate with Spock, and found –

Nothing.

There was nothing.  Not a hole, not a presence, not even the faintest whisper of Spock’s consciousness against his own.  It was just – blank.  Pain rocked through his head again, stabbing behind his eyelids, a knife driving into his skull with increasing pressure and force.  And then it hit him.

Spock was gone. 

A roaring, rushing noise filled his ears, and through the waves he heard an unearthly scream, despairing and so, so _lost._ It was the sound of a dying man, and he shied away from the ghastly echoes, but they continued to reverberate in his ears long after he realized his throat was sore and dry, for he had been the one yelling. 

Tears slid, unwanted and unwelcome, hot and fast down his cheeks as he gasped for air, which was, incredibly, clean and did not burn his lungs.  For the second time, he reached instinctively for the bond that was his comfort, his sanity, and found it lacking, dark and cold and _dead_.

They had killed him.  They had killed his crew and destroyed his ship and murdered his bondmate, for there was no other way the link could be gone, no other reason for the pressure in his skull, for the excruciating effort it took to breathe. 

“You are awake.  Good.”  Jim heard the door clang shut, and heavy footfalls entered the room.  He did not open his eyes; he didn’t need to see his captor to know what was coming.

“I assume you will be asking about your crew,” Koloth said.  Jim wondered passively why their Captain was going to torture him; certainly Klingons had people who specialized in breaking prisoners.

“They are dead.”

Jim inhaled sharply; although he knew what news Koloth would report, he still couldn’t help but think about the crew, consider the hundreds of lives that had been lost to his mistake.  Before he could reply to the Klingon, a solid boot connected with his side, and he cried out involuntarily in pain, his head pulsing in equal time. 

“Your First Officer attempted to bargain for your life.  He beamed down, clearly breaking our agreement.  Honor is important to our race, Captain,” he continued, and Jim heard the faint sounds of his footsteps crossing over to the other side of the room.  “You say there is no war, but you killed our kinsmen.  And I shall have my revenge – and my information – before we are through.”

Jim felt the Klingon’s breath hot on his face, and he shied away from the sensation.  “Your death will be slow, Captain Kirk; slow and painful.  You violated the Neutral Zone – you have no honor, and you will die with none.

“They were correct when they said you were attractive.  It would be a shame to mar those features.”  Something cool and sharp pressed against Jim’s cheek, but he did not open his eyes.  “One cut for each of my fallen soldiers.  Do you not think that is sufficient?”

“James Tiberius Kirk, Captain of the USS _Enterprise_ , N-”

The knife slid like butter across his cheek, a streak of flame on his skin as an echo of the pain shot through his skull, reverberating against the blackness of his bonding cortex. 

It was nearly too much; he waited for the second cut, sure it was coming, and when it came, he slid into a deep place in his mind, observing the situation as if from the corner of the room: the Klingon, bending down in front of him, slicing him open one cut at a time, his own mouth stretched in a silent scream as he endured the agony. 

The fourth cut came, and he slipped deeper; this one was placed on his chest, stretching across his broad pectoral muscle.  He felt, or saw, himself go limp in his restraints, succumbing to the treatment.  There was nothing left for him in the world – no _Enterprise_ , no crew, no Spock.  Who cared how he died, now?

The cuts continued to come, blood pouring hot and wet and sticky down his cheeks, across his chest, down to his legs – he realized, belatedly, that he was naked.  It made no difference.  He snapped back into his own body with the next incision, which was down by his hip. 

“Is that… the best you’ve got?” Jim knew he had spoken the words, heard them in his voice, but it was as if his lips had moved of their own accord.  “A few cuts?  Come on…”  For the first time, he opened his eyes and took in Koloth, who was grasping a knife that was, long, thin, rusty, and covered with blood. 

A heavy blow landed near his temple, and Jim was disoriented, attempting to reconcile the renewed hurt in his head, when he heard the door open and close again. 

“You would like more pain?” Koloth asked, and Jim was faintly aware of something being attached to his face – stickers, of some sort?  “Perhaps physical pain is not enough.  Perhaps we need to go a bit… deeper.”

And then it all made sense – Koloth was applying some sort of device to his skin, something that would give him-

“Klingons do not possess the same telepathic abilities as Vulcans, perhaps,” Koloth said, “but fortunately, technology can mimic its effects.” 

And there it was – the humming of a machine, and then Jim’s mind was invaded, filled entirely with the presence of a foreign entity – and it was Koloth, and yet not Koloth, because it was Klingon as a whole, and it was seeking.  He knew the device was merely hoping to uncover information about the Federation’s supposed war plans, but the machine was indiscriminate, unlike the gentle touch of his bondmate.  Koloth was in his head, and the memories Jim had buried deepest were being rapidly unearthed by the torture device. 

_Frank was yelling at him for crashing his car into the quarry, and he was hitting him, bruising him until his entire body was black and blue, and his face was swollen with the blows, and Winona said nothing, no words, when she came home to see her son battered and injured, two fractured ribs and stitches in his lip._

_He was back on Tarsus, and he was starving, and there were bodies, bodies everywhere, and the black sludge that used to be plants, and they could eat the bodies, they were so hungry, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, so he would go to Kodos; walking through the compound, and they needed medicine, and food, and then there he was, the Governor, and he made him fall to his knees, open his mouth, and then he was choking, choking on Kodos, but he sucked and sucked and swallowed and his face was dripping white as he stood to retrieve the supplies, but there wasn’t enough, there was never enough._

_He was a teenager, back on Earth, bending over in an alleyway for a couple grams, allowing himself to be fucked, debased, for a simple high.  And he did it again the next weekend, and the one after that, a different alley, a different man, sometimes on his knees, sometimes pushed up against a wall, biting his tongue as tears streamed down his cheeks, so dependent on the drugs to get him through another day, another hour, the only genius-level repeat offender in the Midwest._

_And then memories of Spock flooded his mind, ones that were not unpleasant, but somehow they hurt even more than those of his distant past, for they were becoming tainted, coated with the taste and texture of the Klingon device.  He heard himself screaming, crying out, as his body was hit again and again and again, lashes against his back and punches to his jaw, his ribs, a barbed glove tearing across his already mutilated cheeks, but still he was immersed in the pain that was_ Spock _in his mind, and the knowledge that he would never again see his bondmate, that his mind would never again be clean, not after this._

And then something was being pressed against his open mouth, and he refused to open his eyes, because he knew it must be Koloth, mimicking the actions of countless others over the years, and he knew it was no less than he deserved. 

“Do you want it to end?” Koloth growled, and Jim felt the blood running in rivers down his back, pooling on the floor around his knees, his ankles.  He felt dizzy, unsteady, and he did not know how much blood he had lost, but knew it could not be long before it would be too much, before his time would run out. 

“James Tiberius Kirk, Captain-”

Koloth cut off his recitation by slamming his cock down Jim’s throat, and he immediately began to choke.  The Klingon grabbed him by the roots of his hair and pulled his head back, forcing his cock deeper, holding Jim’s jaw agape as he began to fuck his mouth. 

Jim struggled weakly against his bonds, which merely served to cause the blood to flow more freely from his open wounds.  He was losing feeling in his extremities, and black dots began to swim across his vision, slowly solidifying into a mass. 

As he drifted into unconsciousness, he was dimly aware of a guttural roar reverberating throughout the room, and then his mouth was empty.  He was falling, falling, into space, and as he fell he heard his name, whispered in a tenor he never thought he would hear again.

“ _Jim._ ” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was... heavy. I'm sorry, we've got Spock's goings-on coming up next... this chapter was hard for me to write, as it was a bit triggering for me, but it needed to happen. There won't be any more graphic torture, etc. from here on out - it's basically H/C and the recovery period, and how they each deal with what happened here.


	3. Speech Unable

He was swimming.

Floating

Wading?

A sea of black, engulfing his very being, choking and suffocating and he could not swim.

He was drowning.

His limbs could not move; they were unresponsive, and the world was nonexistent, save the darkness in his head.  And his mind – murky like fresh tar, sick and slick with an invasion, a presence that had not quite vanished.  Who had been there?  They had done something to him.  He wanted to remember – but he could not even remember his own name.

He remembered a voice – familiar, as if he had heard it all his life; agonized, whispered words as if they were the last.  He had wanted to respond to it, but he could not speak through the blood that pooled in his mouth.  And then the blackness took him, and he could no longer hear the voice, which had seemed so comforting in that moment. 

_Spock._ The voice belonged to Spock.  Although he knew the name, he could not remember who belonged to it, nor if they were friend or foe.

And there they were – the memories, coming back to him, slowly, trickling in like sand through an hourglass.  A ship – there was a ship.  A viewscreen – Starfleet, the _Enterprise_.  His crew – and _of course_ , Jim Kirk, that was his name.  He remembered the face of his First Officer, turning to him on the bridge, watching him raise an eyebrow in response to a particularly idiotic remark.  And it was good – it was wonderful, it was _Spock_. 

They began to come faster, months of exploring compacted into brief images, flashes of remembrance.  He burst into Spock’s quarters – it was Christmas.  A transporter pad, a hovercar, a farmhouse, and –

_He_ was there.  Jim felt his body convulse, but he could not respond; he was trapped, naked to Koloth, to his mind, to his very presence, and his cock was being shoved roughly into Jim’s mouth and it was _no less than he deserved_ ; screaming, Jim closed off the memories, shut down the feeling of violation, and submerged himself, willingly, in his ocean of pitch. 

If drowning were the alternative to remembering, he would greet death with open arms.

Distantly, he heard a voice.  _That_ voice.  And another – Bones. 

Oh.  He was dead. 

After the Klingons had killed his crew, murdered his First Officer, they had decided to finish the job.  He thought, hazily, that death should feel better.  Shouldn’t there be white light or some shit?  Wasn’t there _more_ last time?  He thought he remembered… but maybe this was different.  Still, where were his loved ones, all waiting to greet him?  And the crew that he’d have to apologize to – one that he’d let down before, but this time, it had cost them their lives.

It was, therefore, surprising to hear the words spoken by Spock and Bones, considering that he was dead, and that he should not only be speaking to them face-to-face, but, for once, they should _not_ discussing his health behind his back.

“I’m telling you, Spock, that’s the only way we’re gonna get through to him.  It’s been five days.  He can’t go on like this much longer.”  Jim would have smiled, if his face muscles could have responded to his commands.  Even in death, Bones was still worrying like a mother hen.

“I understand your concern, Doctor, but the Captain’s mind is in a fragile state.  The science department is still running tests on the device used by the Klingons, but as I have already explained to you, the Captain is unlikely to be receptive to any form of mental contact.” 

Spock sounded tired, Jim thought, surprised.  Why was he tired, if he was dead?  More importantly, why was it that Jim could not speak, or open his eyes? 

“I still think you should do it.  The meld.  We’ve got to get through to him somehow!  Dammit man, I’m a doctor, not a magician – I’ve done all I can!”

A meld?  No.  Spock couldn’t be anywhere _near_ his mind.  He couldn’t let him in, let him see what Koloth had done to him, couldn’t show him Tarsus or Frank or –

“Although I strongly object to your suggested course of action, your logic is sound.  I am forced to conclude my assessment is founded in concern for my bondmate.”

“So you’ll try?”

“I will try.”

Jim was screaming, screaming harder than he ever had in his life, but nobody could hear him.  The darkness hungrily swallowed his cries as he hastily tried to erect some form of mental barrier around his mind, only to find that he already had built walls of steel as he sank through the ocean inside his head.  Inside the fortifications, he saw that he had erected smaller shields around memories he refused to think about – ones that he would not permit anyone to see, particularly Spock.  The feeling of Koloth tainted these shields, and Jim could feel the Klingon’s consciousness lingering, struggling to burst forth and consume his mind.

“Jim?  Can you hear me?” 

Vainly, Jim tried to open his eyes as he yelled into the blackness of his mind – _no, no, don’t do it Spock, don’t come in, stay happy and dead and please don’t look at what he’s done._

“I am going to attempt a meld with you.”  Jim struggled against his invisible bonds, and thought he felt his eyelids respond, fluttering briefly before again lying dormant.  Immediately, Spock tensed at his side. 

“Doctor?”

“Yeah, I saw it, you green-blooded – just keep going!”

“Jim, if you can hear me, I am going to place my fingers on your meld points.  Do not be alarmed.”

Jim most certainly _was_ alarmed as he felt small points of heat touch his face, the position so familiar and yet _so wrong because Koloth had placed stickers on those exact points and there was pain, so much pain and_ –

“My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts,” Spock whispered.

_And then there was a light outside his walls, blue and green and alien and not his own, it was not his own, and it was_ wrong _–_

_NO GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT and Jim was screaming and screaming and suddenly his cries found a voice and he was no longer shouting into the darkness but into a cold and impersonal room_

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO HIM?!” distantly, panicked, and Jim shied away from the thundering voice, because in his mind was someone else, and it was _foreign_

_Jim, ashayam, please, let me help –_

Jim’s eyes ripped open and there was white; everything was white, and his cries echoed off the walls.   His limbs found themselves again, and he was thrashing on the bed, muscles jerking uncontrollably as Spock tore his fingers from Jim’s psi points, and the presence left his mind as abruptly as it had arrived. 

“Spock, hold him still!”

There was the faint hiss of the hypospray, a brief flash of pain against his neck, and then he was back in the ocean, drowning without light.

 

“Jim.” 

There was that voice again – the voice of the dead, Jim thought, and he wondered why he felt like his body had been battered into a thousand pieces if he was really and truly gone.  There was no way death could be that cruel. 

“Ssss…” was all he could manage, and though his eyelids were heavy and weary with sleep, he forced them to open.

Light filtered through his cracked eyelids, but this time he could see colors: he was in a sterile room – _sickbay_ – and there was a blue shadow hovering by his left shoulder.  He blinked twice, and the image came into clearer focus: a line of bangs, pointed ears, skin flushed pale green.  Spock.

“Shhh,” Spock whispered, and Jim noticed his bondmate’s hand hovering uncertainly by his temple.  Entirely reflexively, and though Jim knew Spock meant no harm, he flinched away from the threat of contact. 

“Spock?” he whispered, and his voice was hoarse, a barely-there whisper that Spock may not have heard if not for his Vulcan senses. 

“Ashayam,” Spock responded, and Jim saw how he was trying to maintain his composure, but the Vulcan’s voice broke on the last syllable and betrayed him. 

“So this… this is it, then?” Jim said, looking around in a mild state of surprise.  The room in which they were sitting was remarkably ordinary, resembling the sickbay aboard the _Enterprise._

“I fail to understand your meaning.”

“Death?  You know, after Khan, I’m pretty sure there was a white light.  I think I remember that.  This isn’t… this is new.” 

“Jim, you are not dead.  You are aboard the _Enterprise_ , and we are currently traveling to the nearest starbase in order to meet with Command.”

“Not dead?” Jim repeated, focusing properly on Spock’s face for the first time.  He was sporting deep circles underneath his usually alert eyes, which were soft and anxious.  “But you died.  They told me you died.  I couldn’t,” Jim broke off, gasping for breath, remembering the feeling of absolute loneliness he had experienced in the torture chamber.  “I couldn’t feel you.  You were gone.” 

“They lied to you,” Spock said gently, moving marginally closer to the biobed.  “There was some form of interference caused by the structure in which you were being held.  It effectively blocked our link, causing you to feel as if our bond was no longer intact.” 

Instinctively, Jim reached for the spot that the bond inhabited in the back of his head, and he found that Spock was right – the bond was still there, although it was… blackened, somehow.  It was as if a film had been drawn between their two minds, and Jim recognized it at once – Koloth’s presence lingered around it, and Jim recoiled violently, retreating into the security of his own consciousness once again.  He noticed Spock’s eyes flash with something Jim thought resembled pain. 

“I… how long?”

Although Jim’s question had been vague, Spock knew exactly what he was asking.  “Seven days, two of which were medically-induced.  Doctor McCoy suggested I perform a meld in order to attempt to wake you.”

“Yeah, I remember that.  I could hear you talking.” 

Spock nodded slightly, staring down at his hands.  Was he ashamed? 

“I entered your mind, and I attempted to speak to you, but you… pushed me out.  It appeared that my presence caused you acute pain.  You began to seize, and we were forced to sedate you.  I will not enter your mind without permission again, and I apologize for doing so.  We had few alternatives.” 

Jim shuddered at the memory of someone picking through his memories, his thoughts, his very essence, and closed his eyes, trying to focus on anything other than that.  But – Spock wasn’t like that, was he?  That was Koloth.  The Klingon.  The one who had –

_No._ He pushed the memories down as bile rose in his throat, and he quickly fortified the shields around those areas of his mind.  He couldn’t let Spock know.  He wouldn’t love him.  Not after that – not after what he had done, who he had been, what he had let himself become.  He was worth nothing – not fit to captain a starship, not fit to love, not fit to be loved. 

_Can’t let Spock know, can’t let Spock know, can’t_

He dry-heaved over the side of the biobed, recently healed wounds and sutures tearing as his muscles contracted violently.

“Jim?” and Spock’s hand was on his shoulder, and where the contact should have brought comfort, it only brought back emotions and flashes of memory, of a very different hand on his shoulder, a different face looming before his own –

_“Don’t touch me!”_ he spat, and Spock withdrew his hand as if he had been burnt.  Guilt immediately flooded Jim’s system, prompting another wave of stomach convulsions – that was his bondmate, practically his husband, and he had only been trying to help. 

“Apologies, Captain.”  The words pierced Jim’s heart like each letter was its own blade.  He could not remember the last time Spock had called him “Captain” while they were off-duty.  “I will call for the Doctor.”   

As Spock left the room and Jim relaxed back on the biobed, he felt something settle in his chest – like a weight, only Jim was certain it was too heavy to ever lift.  He stared unblinkingly at the ceiling, waiting silently for Spock to return – he had to apologize, had to explain, had to tell him everything. 

“Jim, what’s going on? Spock was saying-”

Oh.  Bones.  Jim did not deign to move his head, did not feel it necessary to respond as Bones continued to speak.  He was suddenly exhausted – too tired to carry on a conversation, too spent. 

“Jim!” Bones’ face was in front of his, insistent, concerned. 

“Where’s Spock?” 

“How should I know?  He left.  Don’t know what you said to him, Jim,” Bones continued, checking his vital signs with forced concentration, “but you’d better damn well fix it.  He’s been in here morning and night – hasn’t slept, eaten, meditated, _nothing_ since you went missing.”  Bones turned back to him, his features softening, and he looked almost pitying.  For some reason, it infuriated Jim, and he wanted to scream at Bones, wanted to blame his rage on something besides his own worthlessness. 

“I get if you don’t want to talk about it yet, Jim,” he said, and Jim returned his gaze to the ceiling, thinking that if he had to look at that expression for a moment longer he would punch something.  “But you gotta know – I can’t declare you fit for command until you do.  Can’t keep all that bottled up within you.  And Spock – look, I know he seems heartless sometimes, but he really cares about you.  He wants to help you get better.  And I don’t think the way you just yelled at him is the right way to treat him.”

Jim could hardly believe what he was hearing – Bones was telling him to be nicer to Spock.  _Bones._ Things must have been awful while he’d been out if Bones was feeling sympathetic towards the Vulcan. 

“Now, how much pain are you in?” 

Now that he mentioned it, Jim noticed that he was in a considerable amount of pain – it lanced through his ribs as he inhaled; his skull was throbbing with a persistent headache; still-healing incisions were tight with newly-regenerated skin. 

“I’m fine,” Jim lied.

“No, you’re not.  I’m gonna kick up your pain meds – sleep for a while, and when you wake up, you can call for Spock, if he isn’t here already.”  He paused, awkwardly half-out of the door.  “Glad you’re back with us, kid.” 

Jim’s vision was already blurring around the edges, and as he slipped back into unconsciousness, he reached once more for the bond in his head.  This time, he found walls firmly erected around Spock’s consciousness, shutting him out.

He sank.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it was short, but... lots of homework! Thanks for sticking with me, y'all. You're awesome!


	4. No Less Than Life

_It was dark, and something was burning.  Something rotten – he could hear flames licking flesh, sending gray ash billowing into a murky sky that threatened a storm.  There was a massive fire about a hundred meters to his right, partially obscured by buildings and fences, and he crept along through black sludge like a shadow._

_It was dark, and he was starving._

_His limbs, already weak, had begun to shake in past days as he had given all he could scavenge to the children in his care.  There was little muscle left on his bones, and he knew that he was incredibly dehydrated – a headache was building in the back of his skull, and his throat was parched and scratchy like sandpaper, lips cracking like earth in a drought._

_He was on an important mission, he thought, as he moved through the darkness, carefully avoiding the light of the flames, breathing through his ragged shirt in an attempt to moderate the smell of burning bodies.  He needed to get food, water, medicine, anything for the kids.  They would not survive if he didn’t do this – if he didn’t do_ something _._

_The guards knew him – of course they did, his first visit had been after the announcement had been made, after the killing had begun.  They let him in, and said nothing.  They knew who he was going to see, and they knew that he posed no threat to the man in charge.  He was too small, too weak, too desperate._

_He was waiting for him, as usual, and there was a small pack on the table next to his imposing figure.  That was what he needed – the tools for survival were in that bag, and he would do whatever it took to retrieve them._

_The man turned around, and with a start, he noticed – the man was not human, not as he should have been._

_He was Klingon._

Jim’s eyes flew open.  His screams were ringing throughout the small room and his face was stained with tears – he’d been crying, and oh _god he was screaming and where was_

“Spock!” he shouted, reaching instinctively to the left, and his hand closed around Starfleet regulation fabric.  He whirled around in alarm, only to be faced with the soothing features of his bondmate, by his side, as always. 

“You are safe, Jim,” Spock said, cautiously running a hand up and down Jim’s shoulder in an attempt to soothe him, and Jim found that it actually was working.  “Is this… acceptable?”

“Yeah,” he whispered, chest heaving.  “Yeah, it is.  I… Spock…”

His bondmate moved closer, and Jim shifted over on the biobed to make room for Spock to sit.  He did so, and Jim collected himself to say the words that, if taken to heart, would rip him apart.  He'd been thinking about how to phrase them since Spock left the room earlier, and he'd been unable to come up with anything.  He went for it. 

“Jim, please-”

“Spock, I-”

They each stopped mid-sentence, waiting for the other to continue. 

“Please, go on,” Spock said, letting his hand fall from Jim’s shoulder and placing it back in his lap. 

“I… I’m not sure if I can be…” Jim hesitated, unsure of how to phrase what he was trying to say.  “What he did to me.  I can’t – the bond.  It’s too… much.”  Jim immediately wished he could take the words back, rephrase them in a way that emphasized the fact that he in no way deserved Spock, that he couldn't do that to him.

Spock froze, a perfect statue, eyes unblinking and staring at a loose thread in the blanket that covered the bed. 

“You no longer wish to be bonded to me.” 

It was not a question.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Jim whispered.  “I’m no good, Spock.  He did something, back there, to my head.  And every time you come near my mind, it’s like, it’s _him_ there.  I can’t.  I just can’t do it.  And I can’t keep shutting you out.  I can see how much it hurts you.” 

 _If you saw what was in my head, Spock.  If you saw any of it, even for a second, you would know.  You would know that, inside, I’m nothing.  You don’t deserve someone broken, Spock.  You deserve something more, something_ good _, and that person isn’t me.  It isn’t me.  You might think we’re_ t’hy’la _, but warriors aren’t meant to be like this.  They’re strong, noble, pure.  The other Kirk – he was_ good _, he was what you deserved.  Not me.  Not some broken shell of a man, desperately clinging to you because you’re the only person that’s ever loved me.  No.  I’m dirty, Spock.  There’s filth on me that can’t be wiped clean, and I won’t let you be tainted by that._

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words.

“While I can accept that my presence, at this moment, may not be welcome in your mind, we are _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock said, and his voice was as stiff as his posture, each syllable enunciated with alarming precision.  “The termination of our bond would, I believe, cause you great mental distress, as it would me.”

He knew this was coming – Spock, out of misplaced love, would attempt to talk him out of the idea.  But Jim knew the pain of a broken bond between them would be short-lived.  Spock would find another to fill the category of “lover.” 

“If you would just speak to me – I do not understand what has brought about this line of thought,” Spock continued, still gazing resolutely at that barren thread. 

“If I told you, Spock,” Jim replied, “you wouldn’t love me.  You would welcome the chance to get away from me.  And even if you could enter my mind,” he swallowed thickly, “you wouldn’t recognize it.  I’m already losing you.  At least let me keep my dignity.” 

Silence met his words – long, filled with things unsaid by both of them.  Abruptly, Spock stood, but he was facing away from Jim, obviously avoiding meeting his gaze.  “I shall redirect the course of the ship to New Vulcan, and send a message to Command stating as such.  If you need anything, Captain, please do not hesitate to ask.”

Spock paused in the doorway and looked back at the biobed, and his eyes looked almost sad.  “Goodbye, Jim.”

The door shut behind his bondmate with a _whoosh_ , and Jim was left alone in sickbay with only silence for comfort.

***

It would take two weeks to get to New Vulcan, Bones had told him.  Two fucking weeks.  And if Jim had thought star charting was bad, it was _nothing_ compared to this. 

Back then, he had Spock.  Something to look forward to at the end of a long day sitting silently, bored stiff, in the Captain’s chair.  He had his bondmate’s mind for comfort, tucked away in the back of his head. 

Where Spock’s mind resided, there was now a wall, impenetrable and untouchable.  Jim welcomed it, in a masochistic sort of way, and even as he longed for the comfort of Spock’s presence, he was grateful that his bondmate was allowing him space.  He couldn’t help but remember the sheer panic Spock’s mind had caused during their meld, nor the agony of knowing he had caused Spock pain. 

He was allowed out of sickbay on the third day.  His body was still fragile, to some extent, but the regenerator had done its work and his bruises were fading to a yellowish gray.  A few of his ribs had been fractured, but not badly enough that he could not move about, although Bones prohibited him from using the gym. 

And, despite Jim’s best efforts, even his most secure mental walls were failing. 

Koloth was _there_ – in every corner of his mind, seeping into and infecting every thought he had.  The first night alone in his own quarters, Jim woke screaming after a dream where Frank’s face, contorted while beating Jim with his bare hands, had slowly peeled off, as if decomposing, to reveal the features of Koloth.  He wasn’t able to get back to sleep, and the following morning, his appetite all but disappeared.  He spent the day in bed, and let the weight settle further onto his soul. 

Days four and five were no better, but on day six he found time to disobey the doctor’s orders and snuck off to the gym while Bones was asleep.  The treadmill welcomed him home with open arms, and Jim ran. 

From the first step, his body was screaming.  His ribs were jostled with every motion, and he could feel new skin pulling at various incision sites around his body.  His chest protested violently, and he ignored it.

_Ignored it because he had to run, had to.  They were after him, the troops, sent to murder, to kill, and he had to keep the kids together, had to keep them from the mass graves, the executions.  They were his duty now, his job, and as he led them past fields of destroyed crops his stomach rumbled in hunger, a discomfort forgotten by the burning in his legs as lactic acid built up.  But he ran on, encouraging the young ones.  And if there was a little boy, no more than six, who fell and broke his ankle, Jim left him behind.  He had to.  The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the one.  And he had to protect them – he’d promised.  Burning, burning, throat constricting as the miles wore on and still he pushed them, walking sometimes, but mostly running, on and on with hungry mouths as they passed burning homes and ruined fields._

Five miles, six, seven, they wore away underneath his feet as he pushed his body beyond anything he knew.  When he finally stopped the machine, adrenaline flowed through his veins, and for one beautiful moment, he couldn’t feel the pain or remember anything that wasn’t sheer instinct, pure animalistic survival.  He forgot Koloth, the torture chamber, the cock pushed in between his lips as he kneeled, restrained, subjugated, humiliated.

As soon as he was idle, it all came back, a thousand times worse.  Jim knew, in the back of his head, that he had to eat, had to sleep, because it was affecting his ability to compartmentalize his thoughts – the more exhausted he became, the harder it would be to erect mental walls.  But if he could not control his mind, could not control the Klingon presence within it, he could at least control his body.

Sure, Bones came for check-ups, as Jim knew he would.  He would sit there and watch Jim eat, make sure that every scrap of food was gone, before he checked his vital signs and left.  As soon as the door closed, Jim would run to the bathroom and empty his stomach – even trying to keep down one bite was torture, and as he leaned back against the wall of the fresher, he relished the empty feeling in his stomach.

_No more than you deserve._

And so he continued, for three more days, waiting idle in his room until he was certain Bones was asleep, and then creeping to the gym. 

Starve, run, forget.  Tarsus all over again.    

On day nine, he walked slowly back to his quarters, wincing the entire way, keeping an eye out for Spock.  Jim had successfully avoided his XO since their separation, and he wanted to keep it that way.  He wasn’t strong enough to refuse Spock anything, and he knew that if the Vulcan asked to talk about what had happened to Jim, he would not be able to say no.  If that happened, he would not only lose Spock as a friend, but he might lose his First Officer as well.  Jim couldn’t let that happen. 

In a haze, he punched in his door code, collapsed on his bed, and laid motionless, staring at the ceiling. 

Time passed.  He did not know how much; it didn’t matter, he wasn’t fit for command anyways.  The weight pressed down heavily on his chest, and he felt it rise and fall, but was not conscious of the order he was sending his lungs, telling them to breathe.  He was too tired to think, too tired to do anything but lay in the dark of his quarters and let the memories take him.  

Just as he was passing into a half-sleep, his door buzzed. 

“Come.”

“Dammit, Jim, you were supposed to be in for a check-up _yesterday_ , be glad I’ve had physicals to do, or you-”

Silence. 

“Jim.”  It was soft, so soft it came very close to eliciting an emotional response from Jim.  Koloth laughed in the back of his head.

_So someone does still care?  Care enough to save you?  James Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise – you can’t even take care of yourself, let alone your crew.  You will die alone and without honor.  I made you a promise, and I shall keep it._

“What have you _done_ to yourself?  Hasn’t – hasn’t Spock-”

“I haven’t seen Spock in over a week.”  The words were quiet, and Jim realized his voice was hoarse and thin – when was the last time talked to someone?  He’d checked in with Bones two days ago – had his condition really deteriorated that much?  He hadn’t looked in the mirror since he woke up from the coma.  He thought that if he saw the face looking back at him, he wouldn’t recognize it.    

“Can you walk?” There was a tricorder hovering near his face, but Jim was barely conscious of it as he struggled to keep Koloth at bay. 

He nodded. 

“C’mere,” Bones murmured, grasping Jim by his elbow and helping him out of bed.  Jim stumbled immediately, his legs too weak to hold him, too devoid of nutrients.  Perhaps eight miles had been a poor decision.

“Jesus, Jim,” Bones whispered.  “I’m gonna have to support you, come on, put your arm over my shoulders – good, that’s it.”  His voice was soothing, like he was speaking to a wounded animal, but Jim was too tired to care. 

Then they were under the bright lights of the _Enterprise_ ’s hallways, and Jim was surprised there were no crew members wandering the corridors.  

_They should see you like this.  Their hero, wasting away, all because he can’t face who he really is._

“Shut up!” Jim hissed, belatedly realizing he had said the words aloud.  Bones had noticed, of course, and grasped Jim’s arm a little tighter as he led him to sickbay. 

“All right, Jim,” Bones said in that same infuriatingly soft tone as he deposited Jim on a familiar-looking biobed.  “I’m gonna give you something to help you sleep, all right?  We need to get fluids in you pretty quick here, you’re dehydrated.  Don’t think this means I’m not mad at you,” Bones continued as he loaded up a hypospray.  “When you wake up, we’re gonna talk about this.” 

Jim did not protest as Bones gently dispensed the hypo into his neck.

 

This time, the dark was peaceful. 

He was not swimming, nor drowning; he was simply floating, and he could not sense the Klingon through the drugs that suffused his system.  He felt better than he had in days.

His mind, however, blissfully blank, was growing aware.  Something green and blue and shimmering was a pinpoint in the distance, shrouded and yet still present.  It was not malicious, but comforting, and Jim let it approach. 

He woke to Spock sitting at his bedside. 

“Hey.”  What else could he say? Furthermore, why was Spock there, waiting for him to awaken, and – _why were his shields suddenly down_?  Jim recognized Spock’s presence immediately and he jumped in alarm, mentally attempting to strengthen the walls around _those_ memories.  The ones that Spock couldn’t see. 

“Doctor McCoy called me,” Spock said, tentatively resting his hand on the bed, mere inches away from Jim’s own.  “Apparently, he did not believe you would speak openly to him.” 

Silence fell.  Spock did not push Jim for answers, and it stretched one minute, two, and then Jim couldn’t take it any longer. 

“I’m not going to tell you what happened, Spock.  I can’t.” 

“I would not ask it of you,” he replied quietly, lips barely moving.  “I have only come to ask you for one last favor, as your bondmate.” 

Jim let out a short laugh; it was bitter and harsh.  “You know I’d do anything for you, Spock.  Even give you up.” 

Spock appeared to be gathering his thoughts, so Jim stopped talking.  He knew that whatever Spock was about to say, it was important, and he’d probably been preparing it for a while. 

“I do not know how to convince you that I will still love you, regardless of your experiences on that planet,” Spock said, and his eyes finally locked with Jim’s.  They were intense, and yet it was clear to Jim, from the pallor of Spock’s skin and the shadows under his eyes, that his bondmate had not been resting properly, had not been taking care of himself.  “You believe that, if you share what happened to you, I will leave you; that you are broken beyond repair.”  He paused.  “I believe this stems from the, as I am told, commonly-held misconception that there is always one partner in a relationship that loves more deeply than the other.  I had assumed you had detected the magnitude of my affection from our bond.  It appears I am mistaken, and I would like to rectify that error.”

“Spock, everyone knows how you are.  You’re freer with your emotions than some Vulcans, but… I mean…”

“Emotions run deep within our race; in some cases, more deeply than in humans.”

“What are you saying, Spock?” Jim sighed, looking away.

“Allow me to meld with you.  I merely wish to share my memories, and I will not infringe upon yours.  I would simply tell you, but I fear you would not take my words as legitimate.” 

Jim wished to refuse, he wanted to be able to tell Spock what he already knew – that of _course_ he loved Spock more, that it would not change his mind about the bond, that Spock deserved better.  Reluctantly, Jim met Spock’s eyes, and the vulnerability he saw there made his chest throb with guilt.

“Okay. Yeah, okay.  Do it.” 

“Are you certain?” Spock asked, his hand hovering uncertainly next to Jim’s cheek.

“Yes.  I want you to do it,” Jim lied as convincingly as he could, but Spock still looked nervous as he placed his fingers on Jim’s psi points.  Jim resisted the instinctive urge to turn away; Spock only wanted to help; he’d never hurt him.  He slowly relaxed into his bondmate’s touch, and then Spock said the ritual words.

“My mind to your mind, my thoughts to your thoughts.”

They plunged without abandon into Spock’s memories. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, you didn't honestly think Spock would let it go that easy, right? Of fucking course not. He'll always be there to bring Jim back. And I'm so sorry about the break-up scene; I had to go that direction, or I couldn't have included Jim's sort of downward spiral there. Things are gonna be looking up, though, I promise - stay tuned <3


	5. Valued

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this are very stream-of-consciousness, which makes sense (to me) because it takes place in the meld and purely in Spock's memories. I tried to make it easy for y'all to follow! Also, there are a few lines from "I've Got My Love" scattered throughout - hope you read the first part, they'll make more contextual sense <3

_Blurred images, recollections of hot desert sand and an orange sky.  Arrival – San Francisco, and an overwhelming sense of loneliness.  It did not abate.  The memories flashed by too quickly for Jim to see or understand, a passive observer to Spock’s innermost thoughts.  And then, everything slowed, and it was like he_ was _Spock, seeing out of alien eyes onto a very familiar scene._

Spock stood in the observation room of the Kobayashi Maru – a test he had painstakingly designed to be unwinnable, a test no Starfleet member had ever beat. 

“How the _hell_ did that kid beat your test?”

“I do not know.” 

But he would certainly like to find out.  As James T. Kirk threw a smug glance back at the control room, Spock felt something leap within his chest.  It was novel; he discarded it.  Anomaly. 

Human error.

He was standing, a grey pillar amidst a sea of red, staring down the Cadet who had been so arrogant as to plant a subroutine into his test – cheating.  Conceited and stupid, for of course, the Cadet had failed to understand the purpose of the test.

As Spock descended the stairs and began to address Cadet Kirk, he felt unease grow in his chest.  Somehow, standing on the other side of the aisle from this man felt wrong.  Illogically, Spock felt as if he should be at Kirk’s side. 

The destruction of Vulcan across the viewscreen.

 _His entire planet, gone.  But he did not want_ her _comfort, her touches, her soft lips.  He did not want_ her _mind.  The broken bond was gaping, fractured._

She was not what he needed. She never would be.

The Cadet was back aboard, conceited and smug in his escape from Delta Vega, and -

“You _never_ loved her!”

 _Rage_. 

His vision washed green with it, and his hand had closed around Kirk’s throat before he was aware of his actions, a guttural cry ripping from his chest.  He would kill Kirk for the injustice – it was the Vulcan way, before Surak, before logic and reason.

If he had not been so angry, not been so attuned to the shredded bonds in his mind, both familial and marital, he would not have recognized the small throb he felt at contact with Kirk. 

He was not fit for command.

Brothers-in-arms.  They fought as a single entity, and despite Spock’s decision to maroon Kirk on a hostile planet, he never doubted Kirk’s integrity, his commitment to protecting Spock.  As Spock rejoined Jim on the bridge to negotiate with the Romulans, standing at his side, he felt that he had found his place aboard the _Enterprise._ He had never desired the chair.

_The images came more quickly now – missions, chess in Jim’s quarters, Spock’s pleasure at seeing his Captain’s face alight with laughter; the bad nights, sitting in silence on the Observation Deck, watching the stars fly by, and a deep dissatisfaction that Spock could do nothing to ease Jim’s agony at losing crewmembers; a growing realization that he spent more time with Jim than with Uhura, because with Jim, it was as natural as breathing._

_Time slowed, and –_

He was running.  The walls were tilting hazardously as panic blurred his vision – there had to be some way, some way to save him, because James Kirk could not die. 

Spock would not allow it.

He was there, in Engineering, and Scotty was speaking but all he could see was the radiation chamber and the outline of a man huddled inside. 

_No.  Not Jim.  Not Jim.  Anyone but Jim._

“How’s our ship?”

_Saved us, of course, he saved us all, at risk to his own life_

“Out of danger.”  Spock tried to regulate his breathing, which he could feel shortening, tried to control the wildly erratic beat of his heart, the hopelessness that threatened to engulf him as he was forced to wait outside while Jim died alone in the radiation chamber. 

“Good…” 

Spock thought desperately of something to say, anything that might make Jim’s passing more bearable, reduce the utter fear and loneliness he had felt Pike experience upon death.

“You saved the crew.”

_Saved me_

“You used what he wanted against him.  That’s a nice move.”

“It is what you would have done.”

_Did you defeat him?_

_At great cost, yes._

“And this… this is what you would have done.”

_There could be no greater cost than this.  What purpose did Spock serve without his Captain?_

_By his side, as if you always have been and always will be_

“It was only logical.  I’m scared, Spock.  Help me not be.  How do you choose not to feel?”

_I feel for you_

“I do not know.  Right now, I am failing.”

 _Tears, hot and wet and Spock could not remember the last time he had cried, but this was_ Jim _, and Jim was_ more

“I want you to know why I couldn’t let you die… why I went back for you…”

 _You could have been so much more, and of course, Spock, he has been telling you that for months, you are_ friends _, tell him you understand, tell him you care, tell him you do not know when it happened, but he has become necessary for your well-being, his presence is as essential as breath_

“Because you are my friend.” 

Spock’s fingers pressed against glass, and as Jim’s mirrored them, he thought he felt a warmth brush across his mind, like the Terran sun on a summer’s day, and there was

_Spock._

The light left Jim’s eyes; glassy, unseeing, they stared blankly ahead as his hand fell from the glass. 

_Rage._

All-encompassing, consuming, a fire burning from the inside out, and Spock needed blood, needed it to stain his hands and run red over his skin, and even if he bathed in it, it would still not be enough. 

_“KHAAAAAAAAAN!”_

_A haze of green, a chase through San Francisco streets, pain, dealt and delivered, and Spock was a child again, bereft of emotional restraint as he landed blow after blow on Khan’s skull, and then –_

“Spock, stop!  He’s the only way we can save Kirk!” 

_Save Kirk._

_Blurred color – Jim could not stop to catch up, he was lost in the tide of emotion – loss so absolute he was sure he was missing part of his own soul (and was he Jim or Spock?  He couldn’t even tell anymore), panic, guilt over the fact that he could have killed Khan and Jim would have died, and it would have been his fault_

_Recovery, chess in the hospital, meetings in Jim’s apartment when he was still on bed rest, short walks together around Starfleet to help Jim regain his strength, long nights in silence with only paperwork for company, Nyota’s rejection –_

“Oh, Spock.  You still don’t see it, do you?  Someday, Spock, when you get it, you’ll thank me.”

 _The_ Enterprise _, home, routine and a deepening relationship and Spock wondered_

“A friendship that will define you both in ways you cannot yet realize”

_And then was Christmas, and Jim was inviting him along – Spock knew there was no way his affections were returned, yet he put in a call to New Vulcan and had his counterpart locate a tome of Vulcan love poetry, for the Captain would at least appreciate the value of such a work, even if he did not understand the sentiment –_

Why could Spock only breathe properly when Jim was near, and out of danger? How had it happened that he constantly yearned to touch, to seek, to explore the man on his shoulder, in more than a purely mental capacity?

“Were you t’hy’la?”

“Yes.”

_Friend, brother, lover, everything to a Vulcan, a duality that could not be replaced, something impossible to replicate – and he had known, somehow, that their katras were intertwined since the first time they locked eyes, at last manifested in their bond, the mental link formed in a night of intoxicated-fueled passion, out on the sands of Vulcan in a shared mindscape against which the stars themselves paled._

There could never be another – it would be Jim Kirk or death, demise in _pon farr_ , he would die before taking a different mate.  It would be wrong.

_The happiest weeks of his life – Jim at his side, curled into his chest at night, their shared breaths in the small hours of the morning, the way he could meditate to the sound of Jim’s heart, slow and human and so alive._

Like all good things, however, it was short-lived.  They looked out onto a familiar scene.

“Captain, this is entirely irrational.  You cannot beam down alone; you have no guarantee that they will not harm you.  I will not let you risk your life so rashly.”  Spock was barely restraining his anger, and he could feel a small twitch in his hand where it itched to neck-pinch his bondmate, rendering him unconscious but _safe_.

“Spock, either I go down there,” Jim said as they emerged from the turbolift together, “or every single person on this ship dies.  We have no way to escape, and our shields aren’t gonna hold against Klingon weaponry.  And if I don’t come back,” he inclined his head, whispering, “you get her the fuck _out_ of here.”

“Jim,” Spock protested, trailing Jim closely as he strode into the transporter room, “I implore you to reconsider.  Allow me to go in your stead.”

“You heard them, Spock!” Jim cried, and Spock blinked once at his bondmate’s change in tone.  “If I don’t go, they will _blow up the ship_.”

He desperately cast for other objections – Jim had an excellent point, although Spock did not approve of the risks to his safety.  “Jim, you do not believe in no-win scenarios.”

“Spock,” Jim sighed, stepping wearily onto the transporter.  “What is it you always say?  _The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one_.  I’ll comm you when I know what it is they want to discuss.  If you don’t hear from me – well… you know what to do.”  Jim glanced back at the ensign manning the controls.

“Jim, please-”

_I have lost you once before; I am not strong enough to do so again._

“Energize.” 

Bright light began to swirl around Jim, and Spock knew he had lost the fight.  Desperately, he pushed one last thought through the bond before Jim disappeared completely. 

_I love you._

Spock headed back towards the Bridge, intending to monitor Jim’s frequencies during his time planetside.  He had just entered the turbolift when, quite suddenly, Jim’s presence in his mind just –

_Vanished.  A flash of pain, a moment of brief unconsciousness deep within Jim’s half of the bond, and then it was gone._

Spock gasped audibly, and the silence in the turbolift made it sound like a scream.  He examined the vacant space, only to find that Jim’s presence had not been ripped away – that would have left a torn bond, a wound from which Spock did not believe he could ever heal. 

The turbolift doors opened onto the Bridge, and Spock felt his chest throb when he spied the empty Captain’s chair.  The planet that so closely resembled Qo’noS loomed threateningly on the viewscreen, and Spock struggled to control his unbridled fear and anger. 

“Lieutenant, what is the status of the Captain?” 

“We lost all communication just a few seconds ago, Commander,” Uhura replied distractedly, her fingers flying over the controls of her station.  “I’m working to get past the interference, but it seems as if the storms present on the surface of the planet are the main problem.”

The bond was still dark and empty, with only a faint echo of Jim’s consciousness remaining, and even that was rapidly fading. 

The turbolift slid open, and Spock did not have to turn to know who it was. 

“Are you not gonna go after him?” McCoy’s voice reverberated around the quiet bridge, and Spock winced, remembering the distant pain that had accompanied the sudden darkness in his bonding cortex.

“The Captain requested a period of two hours’ time, after which he ordered-”

“Since when have you ever listened to anything Jim says?” McCoy interrupted as he took up his customary position to the left of the Captain’s chair. 

“I will not disobey a direct order given to me by my commanding officer-”

“Dammit, Spock, you’re not a robot!  We’re talking about more than just your Captain here!”

Every previously inattentive head was now tilted in their direction, and Spock resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to throw McCoy off the bridge. 

“I am unaware as to what you are referring, Doctor, and I would appreciate it if we moved this conversation to-”

“You’re just going to sit there and let Jim die at the hands of Klingons?  God only knows what they could be doing to him down there right now!” 

Spock thought he might have a fairly good idea.

“Doctor McCoy, I must request that you leave the bridge, as you are causing a disturbance to those of us who are working to locate the Captain.” 

“Are you out of your Vulcan mind?  I’m not going anywhere until we find him!” 

“Doctor, if you cannot control your emotions-”

“At least comm security and prepare an away team!  If you end up going down there, you’re gonna need some backup.” 

Spock turned to Nyota, who, it was clear, was paying no mind to the entire exchange.  “Lieutenant, report.” 

“Still just static.  I don’t think those storms are going to let up anytime soon, Commander, and we certainly can’t lock any sort of signal until there’s a break in the atmospheric disturbances.”

Spock turned to his replacement, Ensign Waters, who was combing through data.  “Ensign, do scans indicate any possible breaks in the ion storms?” 

“Yes, Commander, there may be an opening that emerges in approximately five hours, but scans indicate that you’d only have about…” their fingers floated over the controls, sifting through data, “fifteen minutes to take out the Klingon force, find the Captain, and beam back aboard the ship.”

McCoy cursed loudly, but Spock remained silent and turned back to the viewscreen.  He could not lose Jim, and if this was his one chance to recover his bondmate, he would take it, even if he had to turn himself over for disciplinary action due to disobedience of a superior officer’s direct orders. 

Spock pressed his comm badge.  “Lieutenant Giotto.”

“Giotto here.”

“Lieutenant, I am going to need you to assemble a security team.  We will be attempting a rescue mission in approximately five hours if the Captain has not yet returned.” 

“Understood.  Giotto out.” 

Spock turned to Bones, who was still standing next to the chair with a slightly shocked expression on his face. 

“If you’re going down there, then I’m going with you,” McCoy said, raising one eyebrow as if daring Spock to challenge his decision. 

Spock had no intention of doing so, and lifted his own eyebrow in return.  “I would expect nothing less.” 

“I’ll be in Sickbay.  God knows what we’re gonna find when we get down there.” 

As Spock gazed back out at the unfamiliar planet, he could not help but worry they may come too late.

Nyota suddenly appeared at his shoulder, and Spock internally berated himself for not paying enough attention to his surroundings.  Fear was threatening to overrule his every faculty as he tried relentlessly to follow the echo of Jim to where he knew the bond must lie, but received nothing each time. 

“Spock, can you – can you feel…” she whispered hesitantly. 

“No.”

“Doesn’t that mean-”

“He is not dead.” 

_Cannot entertain the thought, life without Jim is a sky without stars, dark without light, empty and dead as his eyes, glazed and unseeing and open and cold against the glass as Spock yearned to touch, to hold, to feel_

“But, Spock-”

“He is not _dead_ , Lieutenant!” Spock snapped.  He realized he was standing, fists clenched tightly at his sides; his chest was heaving, constricting with anxiety as he reached again for the bond and found it missing. 

“Spock, are you-” her hand was on his shoulder, but he could not feel it.  His body seemed to tense, and his heart was racing uncontrollably in his side. 

“It’s okay, just calm down,” and Spock thought it was Uhura speaking, but he was not certain, for the world seemed distant and far away as his limbs filled with ice; was he breathing?  His hand was clutching something – the chair?  His knees hit something solid, but all he could think of was Jim, alone on the surface of an unfamiliar world with hostile forces.

“What the hell is going on?”  McCoy, Spock recognized distantly as small black dots swam before his eyes, solidifying into dark blurred edges around his plane of vision, which was currently focused on Nyota’s boot. 

“I think he’s having a panic attack,” came her voice from above him, and Spock wondered why they cared about him, when Jim could be dying at the hands of his captors, for certainly he had been captured, there was no other explanation for the pain he had felt –

He felt Bones inject a hypospray into his neck, and almost immediately his heart rate slowed and his arms seemed to regain their feeling.  Spock quickly regained control of his erratic heartbeat and as he stood his eyesight sharpened, no longer obscured by black shadows.

“Take it easy, Spock,” McCoy was saying, one hand resting hesitantly on Spock’s shoulder as he repossessed his limbs.  “You’ve just experienced a panic attack.  I’d tell you that you shouldn’t be beaming down, but-”

“I would simply ignore you,” Spock finished the Doctor’s sentence and strode over to the turbolift.  “Sulu, you have the conn.” 

“Yes, sir,” the helmsman called after Spock, and Bones followed him into the turbolift. 

“I am going to oversee preparations for the security team and the ongoing repairs in Engineering,” Spock supplied needlessly, desiring to fill the empty silence.

“He’s still alive?”

“Affirmative.”

“Well,” Bones said as the lift opened onto Sickbay, “I hope you’re right.”

Spock concentrated on an attack plan, pointedly not focusing on thoughts of his bondmate, painfully conscious of the seconds moving, passing like years.  The bond was silent.

 

They had 15.34 minutes to find where Jim was being held, get past the Klingon forces, rescue him, and beam back aboard the _Enterprise._ If they missed their window, there was a strong possibility the ion storms would not abate for another day at least.  This posed a substantial problem, for the atmosphere was toxic to humans after extended periods of exposure; either they would be forced to remain on the planet, continue their search for Jim, and potentially die, or they would be forced to beam back without the Captain, which would almost certainly mean Jim’s death.

Spock and the security team had worked out a rough plan of attack, not knowing what they would meet on the surface of the planet – how may Klingons were there, and what kinds of defenses would be guarding the Captain? 

It was nearly assured that there would be a phaserfight – Klingons were stronger than humans, and much of the security personnel on the _Enterprise_ was fresh from the academy with little practical experience.  Placing distance between themselves and the Klingons would hopefully help to minimize casualties – it was not a particularly good plan, but it was the best they had. 

Spock and his team were assembled on the transporter pad, Chekov at the controls, ready to beam them down as soon as the interference abated.  Spock felt edgy, his entire body thrumming with heretofore untapped reservoirs of energy: is this what it felt like, to the ancient Vulcans, before they went to battle?  A sick sort of anticipation, the barely restrained desire to rip flesh from bone?  Spock did not know – all he knew was that Jim was still alive, that the bond had not been torn apart – not yet.  He did not, however, possess any knowledge of Jim’s current physical state – if he was injured, still unconscious, if he was near death.

Spock thought that if he had to wait a moment longer to beam down to the surface, he might kill the next person who was unwise enough to speak to him. 

“On your command, sir,” Chekov spoke over the quiet chatter of the transporter room, looking up at Spock with something like fear and pity in his young eyes.

“Energize.”

As light engulfed him, Spock thought he heard Chekov murmur, “Udachi.”

The luck, it appeared, was needed. 

As soon as they materialized, phaser fire erupted in the air around them.  Spock grabbed McCoy’s arm and dragged the Doctor behind a nearby boulder as a young Ensign fell beside them.  Spock recognized his face – Ensign Peters, the boy that had interrupted them in the gym - what seemed like so long ago.

He was dead. 

“Guess setting phasers to kill was a good idea,” Bones shouted above the din as the security team continued to scramble for cover. 

Spock ignored him and instead chanced a glance above their boulder to see what lay in the direction of the phaser fire.  There were a series of low buildings, seemingly temporary residences, and several Klingons were standing guard by one particularly large structure.  The land between Spock and the buildings provided little cover except in the form of boulders, and he knew that it would be extremely difficult to cross the barren ground without cover. 

“Doctor,” he said, rounding on McCoy, a plan half-formed in his mind.  “I need you to cover me.” 

“Are you crazy?” McCoy shouted, throwing a quick shot haphazardly above their boulder.  “You’ll die!”

“I will not,” Spock said, mimicking McCoy’s actions and hitting a Klingon square in the chest.  “The others will follow your example.  After I incapacitate the Klingons guarding the doors, your presence will be needed.  Jim is inside, and we have waited too long.” 

“You crazy, green-blooded-”

Spock did not hear the rest of his insult, because then he was standing and running, sprinting across the barren gray earth, thinking of Jim, only of Jim. 

 _Klingon – fire, drop._ _Jim Jim Jim Jim JIM_

Something was screaming, roaring like a wounded animal, and his fists were crashing into the ridged skull of a Klingon warrior – he felt a blow land on his arm, and the bone fractured but he did not care, he would not cease until he had his bondmate. 

One down, another on his back, smashed the skull of the third and his head was light and _why could he not breathe and had blood was flowing hot and wet from somewhere and it was his_

He threw the second guard, who flew over his shoulder and landed, out of breath, on the ground. 

Spock snapped his neck. 

He burst through the door and realized, belatedly, that he must have been stabbed in the back – he could feel the wound pulsing with each step he took, but he pushed away the pain, and focused solely on Jim. 

A long gray corridor stretched away in front of him and he was running, running, for at the end of the hallway was –

Screaming.  Faint, yes, but present, and when Spock heard it, his eyesight was colored green, because he knew that voice.  He knew those cries.

_Rage._

Two guards more; Spock dispatched them with ease, his limbs a whirl of muscle and grace as he moved efficiently, unthinkingly, long-buried instinct rising in him once more. 

A powerful blow to the door with his leg, and –

 _Blood.  Blood everywhere._ Jim was suspended from the ceiling, manacles around his wrists and his ankles as he knelt on the floor in a pool of red, blood gushing from lacerations that scored his face, his chest. 

And in front of him, a Klingon – Spock did not care to know who he was, did not care to spare him his life, for his cock was jammed into the mouth of Spock’s _t’hy’la_ , whose eyes were closed and whose face was riddled with bruises, blood, and what appeared to be stickers and wires attached to his psi points. 

All of this took him but a second to observe, during which time the Klingon slid his cock from Jim’s lips and half-turned.  Spock was only vaguely aware of his body moving, a battle cry ripping from his throat as he hurled the Klingon against the wall.  A solid blow landed on his shoulder, fracturing more bone, but Spock did not allow himself to feel; he dodged a well-placed punch that was intended for his temple and stepped closer to the Klingon, delivering a solid kick to his midway. 

The Klingon grasped his leg and flipped Spock, who felt his ankle twist almost unbearably as he flew through the air to land hard on the solid floor.  He used his other leg to sweep the Klingon’s feet out from underneath him, and was on top of him in an instant, landing blow after blow to his head, bruising his knuckles, hoping to shatter the Klingon’s skull.  He thrashed underneath Spock, but upon receiving a particularly harsh uppercut, lay silent. 

_Jim._

“Jim!” Spock yelled, dragging himself across the room and breaking his bondmate’s manacles by sheer force.  Jim collapsed in his arms, unresponsive, limp and bleeding.  Spock tore the stickers off his psi-points, throwing them on the ground next to the machine to which they were attached, a machine Spock had not noticed through his fury.

_Too much blood, too much blood.  Ashayam, what have they done to you?_

There were voices in the hall.  “Spock!  Spock!” 

“Doctor!” Spock yelled, and his voice cracked on the last syllable as he gathered his bondmate into his arms, blood seeping into the blue fabric of his tunic, causing flowers of purple to blossom in its wake.

“Oh Jesus,” McCoy said, rounding the frame of the door and spying Jim’s limp form in Spock’s arms.  “He’s lost a lot of blood.  We need to get him back to the _Enterprise¸_ otherwise we’re gonna lose him.”

_They ran._

Spock stood outside the operation room as Bones labored over Jim’s prone form, his entire world narrowed to the heartbeat that still sounded on the monitors.  Now that the bloodlust had subsided, he felt nothing but a deep anger and an overwhelming sense of guilt.  He should have been there, should have gotten to Jim sooner.  This was his fault. 

 _“What is it you always say?  The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one_.”

That saying was a fallacy, and it was the reason Jim was lying comatose in a biobed.  Spock reached for the bond as he had been doing since they beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_ , and again found it firmly shielded.  Walls stronger than Spock had ever seen Jim create surrounded his consciousness, so Spock stayed away.  Jim would allow him in when he was ready. 

Days passed, and Jim remained unresponsive.  With each passing hour, Spock felt more of himself slip away.  He could not eat, sleep, meditate – he spent nearly all of his time at Jim’s bedside, having relinquished command of the _Enterprise_ to Scotty based on his compromised emotional state. 

On the fifth day, he made contact – and was rejected so vehemently he feared Jim’s consciousness did not recognize his own. 

Two days later, when Jim spoke the words Spock had been dreading, he did not fight Jim’s decision.  If his bondmate needed space, he would have it.  But Spock would not – could not – desert his t’hy’la.  Even if that meant the dissolution of the bond, Spock would remain by Jim’s side, for that was where he belonged.  Even if Jim ceased to love him and Spock’s entire world came crashing down, at least he would have Jim’s friendship, be it merely a phantom of their broken bond. 

_At his side, as if you’ve always been there and always will._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, ok, I hope that wasn't too bad. I know it was really long (oops sorry I kinda got carried away with procrastination and feelings) but I just found that Spock had a lot more to say to Jim than I first thought he did! As always, you're all awesome - thank you so much for leaving kudos and sweet comments, those types of things really make my day!!


	6. I Love You

In a jarring maneuver that shook him right to the very core of his consciousness, Jim was back inside his own head, in sickbay, and Spock –

_Spock._

Jim realized that tears were streaming down his face and wiped them away hurriedly with the back of his hand.  His bondmate sat next to him, so still he could’ve been made from marble, and Jim turned to him, shocked beyond words. 

“I – I had no – I didn’t know,” he stuttered lamely, knowing that it wasn’t enough, that he should’ve been able to say more after Spock had bared his soul.

“You could not have known,” Spock whispered, and his eyes were downcast, shadowed, pained.  “It is not your fault that I was not more forthcoming with my feelings towards you.”

Jim opened his mouth to say something – an apology, a plea, _anything_ to make Spock realize that Jim did not blame him.  Nothing came out.  Spock did not speak, but let Jim struggle to find his words; the Vulcan’s head was bowed and his hands were a light year away, folded lightly on his lap. 

“You saw.”  And _no fuck no_ Jim hadn’t meant to say that, but the fact that Spock had seen him subjugated, humiliated, rested at the forefront of his mind. 

Impossibly, Spock’s body tensed even more.  His biceps were straining against his regulation blacks, and a small vein stood out in sharp relief on his forehead.  For the first time while being in Spock’s presence, Jim experienced real fear: in that moment, it was not his bondmate sitting by his bedside, but something much older, much more primal.

“Do not speak to me of Koloth,” Spock spat, and he spoke the Klingon name as if it was a curse.  Jim didn’t think he’d ever seen Spock filled with such hatred, even when Spock attacked him on the bridge during the _Narada_ incident; it was a rage that paled in comparison to Spock’s anger towards Khan, whose actions had caused Jim’s death.  “I broke him.  I tore him apart like the Vulcans before Surak.  And I would do it again.”  He raised his eyes to meet Jim’s. “Over and over, I would betray the principles of my people to keep you from harm.” 

“He’s in my head, Spock,” Jim whispered.  “Inside my memories.  It’s like, he’s there, tainting them, burrowed in areas in my mind I’ve chosen to forget.  He’s there, and he _knows,_ he-” he stopped, suddenly so exhausted by everything that had happened, by the presence of the Klingon lurking inside his head.  Spock waited.

“When I was young, Spock… there were things that I did.  Things that are unforgivable.  And if you,” he took a ragged breath, “if you think Koloth was bad... well, at least that wasn’t my choice.”

“Jim,” Spock said, carefully moving his hand to grasp his bondmate’s.  Jim reveled in the touch, in the affection he could feel battering the walls of his mind, washing like a tide against the fortified shields.  “I… I love you more than words can wield the matter.  Dearer than eye-sight, space, and liberty; beyond what can be valued, rich or rare; no less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honor; as much as child e’er loved, or father found; a love that makes breath poor and speech unable; beyond all manner of so much I love you.” 

Jim smiled weakly.  “King Lear.  You should recite Shakespeare more often, it’s a good look on you.”

Spock glanced down at their interwoven hands, laying irreverently atop the sickbed.  “If I profane with my unworthiest hand,” Spock murmured, and his voice was honey, moving through the vowels with something resembling lewdness, “This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this: my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”  His hand moved softly against Jim’s, Spock’s long fingers tracing the veins and the lines on Jim’s palm. 

“Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, which mannerly devotion shows in this,” Jim continued the verse, unwilling for Spock to let go, never wanting the moment to end.  “For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch.”

Spock pressed his palm against Jim’s, closed his eyes, and breathed, “And palm to palm is holy palmer’s kiss.”

Jim was undone.

“If I show you… you need to promise that, no matter what, you’ll stay on the _Enterprise._  Even if.  Even if you don’t love me anymore,” Jim added, voice breaking embarrassingly on the last word.

“You are _t’hy’la_ , Jim,” Spock said, reaching his other hand up to cup Jim’s cheek.  He leaned into the touch.  “I have loved you since first we met, and through everything, that has remained unchanged.”

“Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?” Jim assented, but he did not remove his mental walls.

“One half of me is yours, the other half yours mine own, I would say; but if mine, then yours, and so all yours,” Spock pressed. 

“Such is my love, to thee I so belong, that for thy right myself will bear all wrong,” Jim countered.

“Things base and vile, folding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity: love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; and therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.”

His eyes were earnest and piercing, inquiring and concerned, and Jim couldn’t bear it any longer. 

“Okay,” he whispered, and let down his walls, feeling vulnerable beyond belief.

“May I?” Spock asked, fingers hovering over Jim’s psi points.

“Yes,” Jim whispered.

“My mind to your mind,” Spock murmured, “my thoughts to your thoughts.”

Jim let the shields fall – the ones protecting the memories he couldn’t bear to entertain, the lowest points in an already mediocre life.  They sank into the meld, into the darkness of Jim’s mind, festering with self-hatred and doubt.

And _Spock.  Spock was there._

_A gentle, caressing presence, water over moss-covered stones, moving oh so carefully and so, so slowly._

_But Koloth was there too, like oil on the water, fuel for flame, seeping and infesting and Jim was nothing, not worthy of Spock not worthy of love undeserving of peace or happiness and he deserved to burn and the memories started to come and he was drowning because that’s what he was worth_

_deserved the slashes and the bruises and the dick thrust hot and hard into his mouth in the torture chamber, in Kodos’ presence, in the alleyway where he picked up his temporary salvation in the form of chemical dependency and he deserved it all_

_could never live up to the other Kirk, one of the best Captains Starfleet had ever seen, could never be that fundamentally good because at his core he was rotten_

_because Frank was right, he was worthless, and he would never be as good as his father or his mother or his brother who got out, because Jim was an echo of George Kirk, an insignificant shadow of a greater father who saved all those people and Jim had nearly let his ship be destroyed and the dead, so many dead, gone because of him and_

_why can’t you be more like your father_

_pushed up against the cold damp stone of a building on a humid August night and kneeling in his own blood, naked and subjugated and he deserved it all and Spock needed someone pure and clean who wasn’t damaged and so, so broken_

“Stop.”  The voice was clear as it reverberated through the influx of memory, and it was Spock yet not Spock, because it was a voice of command, a voice imbibed with rage beyond its years.

“Stop.” Softer now, definitely Spock’s voice, and Jim wondered what he was doing, why Spock was telling him to stop when Jim had just begun to explain. 

The darkness that had surrounded their shared space suddenly solidified into something very familiar: a bridge, snow swirling around them as they gazed at a city skyline in awe.

Of course – the Brooklyn Bridge.

“Why are we here, Spock?” Jim asked, leaning heavily on the railing and staring out to where the Statue of Liberty lay obstinately at the junction of the East and Hudson. 

“You showed me what was in your mind, what has been troubling you,” Spock said, joining Jim, but not touching him.  “I believe we should discuss it.”

“Yeah, but why _here_?” Jim repeated, glancing down the bridge towards Manhattan.  “We could’ve just talked back in Sickbay.”

“This is where I fully realized my affections for you,” Spock said to the railing.  “This trip – when we stood here, on this bridge, I felt a nearly overwhelming urge to hold your hand.  You had told me this bridge served as a meeting place for couples in old Terran media – I desired to share that experience.” 

Jim continued to stare straight ahead.  He didn’t think he could bear to look at Spock’s face, to see disgust and revulsion written on his beautiful, angular features. 

“Jim,” and Spock’s arm was around his waist, Spock’s side pressed against his, his bondmate’s lips hovering by his ear.  “What you have shown me does not change the magnitude or nature of my affection for you.” 

Jim laughed, a short huff of breath that marked a precursor to speech.  Spock cut him off.

“What you have shown me does not render you undeserving of love or happiness.  It has merely made you strong.” 

“How can I be strong, Spock?” Jim whispered.  “How can I be strong when he’s in my head every second of the day?  How can I be strong when I’ve degraded myself so many times – when I’m unclean?”

“What you have done in the past is not my concern, Jim,” Spock said, tightening his arm slightly.  “I am in love with you, and there is no action you could perform that could change my feelings.  You did what you had to do to survive.  There is no shame in that.” 

Jim turned his head to look at Spock.  “I once told you that I slept around, not because I didn’t want a relationship, but because I couldn’t hold one down.  Because I panicked – people got too close to me, and I just – I didn’t think I could take it, if they found out what I really was.  The kind of person I really was.”

“Jim,” Spock said gently, his features softening.  “I know who you are.  You are my Captain.  _Ashayam.  T’hy’la._ ” 

“Were our counterparts _t’hy’la_ , too?” Jim asked, remembering old-Spock’s descriptions of _his_ Jim, the way he spoke his voice longingly and the bittersweet anecdotes he would relate to Jim about their missions. 

“They were.” 

Jim reached up to trace one of Spock’s ears.  “Do you believe in destiny?”

“I am not sure.  The only thing I can say with any certainty is that I would choose you.  In a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality.  I would find you, and I would choose you.  It has always been you.”

Jim grinned tentatively, and gripped the back of Spock’s neck.  He drew their faces close together, foreheads just touching, sharing breath.  “Spock.  Oh god, Spock, I’m so sorry.  I’m sorry for everything.  I was so stupid.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“I love you.  God, I love you.”

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite.” 

Jim’s smile widened and he closed the remaining distance between their lips – Spock reciting Shakespeare was _definitely_ the hottest thing ever, and he would have to get him to do it during sex sometime. 

They pulled out of the meld slowly, and Jim felt a strange sense of loss when he opened his eyes to the sight of the sterile sickbay.  Koloth, Jim was relieved to notice, was gone.  It seemed that allowing Spock into his mind had somehow flushed the Klingon out – Jim could not feel his presence anywhere, and even his worst memories remained clean.

“About damn time!”

Jim and Spock both jumped at the sound of Bones’ voice. 

“Forgive me, Doctor, but-”

“Don’t you dare!  You two!” His features were contorted with an odd mixture of concern and relief as he stormed around the room. 

“Wait, no, Bones-” Jim began to protest as McCoy approached him, hypospray in hand.  “Come on, I talked to Spock, don’t – dammit!” he swore as Bones jabbed the hypo into his neck. 

“That’s for being such a damn fool,” Bones growled as he turned his attention to the saline drip that was attached to Jim’s arm.  “And _you_ ,” he continued, turning towards Spock as he pulled the needle out of Jim’s arm.  “You two have been out for hours!  Damned Vulcan voodoo, you had me worried sick.”

“Aw, Bones, don’t be such a mother hen,” Jim teased, rubbing his arm distractedly. 

“I don’t know what you did, but thanks,” Bones said to Spock.  “Guess you’re good for something.” 

“High praise, coming from you, Doctor,” Spock said, raising one eyebrow in surprise. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” Bones grumbled as he turned towards the door. 

“Does this mean I can go back to work?” Jim asked tentatively. 

“Absolutely not,” Bones said, looking back.  “You were dehydrated and you haven’t eaten properly in days.  You should be able to get around all right, and I’m not gonna make you stay here because I know you’ll just leave, but you’re not physically fit for duty yet.  Spock, d’you think you could-”

“Affirmative, Doctor.” 

“Good.  Jim, go get something to eat.  Small portions, d’you hear?” 

“You got it, Bones,” Jim said, suddenly starving at the mention of food.  When was the last time he had eaten? 

“Good to have you back, kid,” Bones said, and left.

“How about that food, then?” Jim said, sitting up and pulling on his undershirt, which was laying at the foot of the bed. 

“I will accompany you to the mess, if you wish,” Spock said, grasping Jim’s elbow to help him out of bed.  Jim realized Bones was right – he definitely felt weaker and his head spun slightly as he tried to stand on his own. 

“I’m not sure I – oh,” Jim said as he swayed and Spock caught him. 

“Here,” Spock said, and arranged Jim’s arm around his shoulders so that Spock could support part of his weight. 

“People will talk,” Jim pointed out as they moved out of sickbay. 

“They are already talking.”

That stopped him.  “Wait, how do you mean?”

“Jim,” Spock said as they walked arduously down the hallway to the turbolift, “I did not leave your side for nearly a week while you were in a coma.  I was forced to declare myself emotionally compromised by the ordeal.  Your crew are astute.  They conjectured there was something between us.”

“Are you saying the entire crew knows we’re together?!” 

“I have neither confirmed nor denied the rumors that are currently circulating concerning our relationship.  I am merely stating that a vast majority of those rumors have placed us in a romantic liaison.” 

As they entered the mess, it was clear that people were trying very hard not to stare.  Spock led Jim to a table and went to retrieve food for them both; he returned with some crude imitation of a Vulcan entrée for himself and a sandwich for Jim. 

“My god,” Jim breathed, picking up the sandwich with great care, taking a small bite and chewing slowly.  “This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had.” 

Across the table from him, Spock smiled – brief, small, but a smile nonetheless.  Jim let affection pour through the bond, and received a series of mixed emotions in turn: love, happiness, and below that, a desperate worry and concern. 

“What’s wrong?” Jim asked, setting down the sandwich, of which half was already gone. 

“It is not pressing,” Spock said quietly, and his eyes started to scan the mess restlessly, avoiding Jim’s gaze.  Jim waited for Spock to speak his thoughts, but when his bondmate wasn’t forthcoming, he forced the matter.

_Hey.  Yeah, it is.  What’s up?_

Spock glanced up at him.  _Do you still wish to dissolve the bond?_

Jim nearly choked on the last bite of his sandwich.  “ _What?!_   How could you think that?”

“You made no indication otherwise.” 

“Okay, fair point, but I mean – of _course_ not!” Jim heard his voice rising, but he couldn’t bother to keep it down.  “I love you, you pointy-eared idiot!  Did you not hear me say that?”  A few heads turned slightly in their direction, but Jim didn’t care.

“Love has variable definitions,” Spock hedged, but Jim knew he was teasing – contentedness was radiating from Spock, and Jim wanted to bathe in it. 

“Spock, you’re the smartest person I know, but sometimes you can be _so dumb._ ” 

Spock raised an eyebrow, but his lips quirked just slightly, and Jim let out a shaky laugh. 

“I will go tell Mr. Scott to reroute our course to the nearest Starbase,” Spock said.  “It appears there is no longer a need to travel all the way to New Vulcan.” 

“Okay,” Jim said, smiling slightly as Spock stood up and began to walk away.  “I’ll just wait here, then!” 

As he watched his bondmate’s retreating back, he thought that he was probably the luckiest man in the world – and that was when it hit him.  

_“Are you going to make it official?  If you clear it with Command, they may even give you shared quarters – it’s enormously difficult to break up couples if they’re officially married by Federation standards, and you’re already technically hitched by Vulcan-”_

_“Whoa, there, Nyota, slow down.  We can figure all that out later, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a formal bonding ceremony.”_

A formal bonding ceremony – something that could only take place at one place. 

 _New Vulcan_. 

“Spock!” Jim called out, and Spock paused, only about twenty meters away, but it felt like a mile as Jim stood and walked towards him.  “You can’t.” 

“I do not understand your meaning, Jim,” Spock said, and Jim prayed the bond did not betray him. 

“You can’t go talk to Scotty.  We’re going to New Vulcan,” they were now only a few feet apart, and although everyone at the surrounding tables looked intently interested in their food, Jim knew they were listening. 

“Forgive me, but as there is now no reason to go to New Vulcan, it is only logical we change course.” 

“Spock,” Jim said, not bothering to keep his voice low, because he didn’t care who knew.  “These past few days, without you, have been empty.  I’m not sure when it happened, but I need you by my side – and I think I always will.  Not having you is worse than the worst torture, more painful than anything I’ve ever experienced.” 

“Jim,” Spock hissed, eyes wide with shock.  “Is this not a conversation that would be better-”

“No.  I love you, Spock.  I always have, and I always will, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you officially, because I’m not ashamed of it.  I could never be ashamed of you.

“So, Spock,” Jim said, and as he went down onto one knee, the entire mess stopped pretending to care about decorum and instead turned their full attention to their Captain and First Officer.  There was a moment of perfect silence, the only sound that of the engines humming underneath their feet.  

“Will you marry me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See: how much Shakespeare can an author logically fit into a chapter? I definitely have a headcanon that Jim absolutely adores Shakespeare's work - and of course, when Spock finds out, he devours every Shakespeare play he can get his hands on because it gets Jim all hot and bothered in a really nerdy cute way. Plus, half the shit Shakespeare writes is stuff Spock would never normally say, and it gives him an outlet to display his emotional side :) But hey - time for a wedding! Kudos/comments are love <33


	7. Beauty

Spock blinked, once, twice, and the crew was utterly still – Jim did not think he had ever seen their attention so raptly set upon anything.  It was like they weren’t even breathing.  But Jim’s focus was still firmly set upon his _t’hy’la,_ who was staring at him with an expression almost identical to one Jim had seen before, right after Spock filed that report, right after Jim had been demoted, right when he told Spock, “I’m gonna miss you.”

Jim began to smile, in the seconds that it took for Spock to come to grips with what was happening, the reality of the situation, that Jim had just proposed marriage in front of dozens of their crewmembers.  He could feel the processes in Spock’s brain beginning to pick back up, after having been temporarily rusted due to a public display of affection, and –

“Yes.”

The crew was cheering, screaming, but Jim didn’t care – he stood, closed the distance between them, and pressed his lips against Spock’s with enough enthusiasm to make the Vulcan stagger.  Spock responded briefly to the kiss, but after a few, too-short seconds, chose instead to twine his hand with Jim’s and step back so that they weren’t making too much of a scene.  When Jim finally tore his eyes away from Spock’s, he noticed that the crew appeared to be exchanging –

“Are you _kidding_ me?” Jim exclaimed as he saw credit chips being passed around.  “Were they – _really?_ ”

Spock squeezed his hand gently before releasing it.  “It would appear so, Captain.” 

Jim whirled around to face him.  “Great, first our bridge crew, and now-”

“Hate to interrupt you lovebirds,” said a smug voice from Jim’s right, and he turned to see Uhura, Chekov, and Sulu staring at them expectantly, “but I think we’ve got a wedding to plan.”

Jim ignored her and gesticulated furiously towards the crew.  “How the hell long?  Did you all know they were doing this?  It’s entirely against-”

“Pretty sure you can’t be complaining about regulations right now, Cap,” Sulu interrupted, laughing.  “But yeah, it’s been going for a while now.  Obviously, we couldn’t tell them, since you two wanted to keep it secret, but I think there’s an Ensign in the Engineering Department who’s gonna be going home pretty rich tonight.” 

“But – they-” Jim sputtered indignantly, face flushing red with embarrassment.  “Oh, my god.”  

“Anyways, seeing as weddings were inwented in Russia, I wished to offer my serwices, Keptin,” Chekov said, and Jim wasn’t sure he could handle the grin that was spreading across his face – the kid just looked so _happy._

“Sorry, but we are _not_ going to make this a big deal,” Jim said, and he took a breath to continue, but stopped when he felt – _disappointment?_ – emanating from Spock across the bond. 

“Wait, you _want_ a big wedding?” Jim asked, turning to Spock incredulously, each word drenched in disbelief. 

Spock hesitated and glanced at Uhura, who nodded in seeming encouragement.  “My mother often mourned her lack of a real wedding ceremony – my father insisted on a traditional Vulcan bonding, but he did not wish to go through the ordeal of a wedding.  It was a human custom my mother often spoke of, and it would be a simple matter to integrate a traditional human marriage with a formal Vulcan bonding.  I believe it would have made her happy to see me married in the Terran way as well as that of Vulcan.  I understand, however, if you are uncomfortable with the idea of a wedding, and we need not-”

“Spock, Spock, no, it’s fine,” Jim interjected, at last finding his voice, which he’d lost somewhere between “mother” and his bondmate’s first iteration of “wedding.”  “I just didn’t think you’d want – I mean, what with-”

“Jim, shut up, you’re embarrassing yourself,” Uhura said.  “We have four days before we get to New Vulcan.  After the _Narada_ , there’s no way Starfleet can separate you two due to your relationship, but we need to get this whole thing tied up before they can come up with some stupid excuse to make a formal investigation.  So can we _please_ get going?”

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Jim protested weakly as Uhura led them out of the mess and towards the rec room. 

“You’re on medical leave at least until we reach New Vulcan, Jim.  I checked with Bones,” Uhura said distractedly.  Out of sight from the crew, Jim wrapped his arm around Spock’s shoulders and began to lean on him again.  Spock responded by pulling Jim close, supporting his weight as best he could. 

“Okay,” Sulu said as they settled around a table.  A few crew members threw them curious glances as he drew out his PADD and continued, “Let’s start with colors.”

***

Jim had never seen his entire crew this interested in something – ever.  It seemed as if every single one of them wanted to give some sort of tip, recommendation, _anything_ to help perfect the wedding of the _Enterprise_ ’s two highest-ranking officers.  Jim wasn’t sure if his love of their enthusiasm was going to be able to withstand his abject hatred of constantly being the center of everyone’s attention. 

Spock was no help, seeing as he was taking nearly as much pleasure in planning the wedding as Uhura.  And _Uhura_ – Jim had to hand it to her; she approached the task with single-minded dedication, meticulously working through the trouble of guest lists, food, duty rosters, color schemes, and every tiny detail in between.

“Come on, you don’t have _any_ idea of what colors you want?”

“Why do there even have to be colors? It’s not like we’re sending out invitations-”

“Maybe not, but the place holders for the tables-”

“ _Place holders?_ ”

“Yes, Jim, place holders.  And then the centerpieces-”

“Who said there needed to be centerpieces?!  Can’t you just do, like, a Starfleet insignia or something?”

“Jim, you have the creative capacity of a teaspoon; besides, you’re going to need flowers for the table-”

“No.  No flowers.  Come on, Nyota, don’t make me pick flowers-”

“Nyota, I believe blue and gold may be appropriate.  May I suggest one of the specimens collected from Aurelius IV?  I believe they perfectly match the color of Jim’s eyes.” 

“Spock, I swear to god, you’re gonna pay for this later.”

“Quit it, you two, I don’t need to hear about what kinds of kinky shit you get up to in bed.  Now, what about rings?”

The day after the engagement, it became clear to Jim that they were going to have to talk to Sarek about the wedding, partly because Uhura wanted to hold the reception at Spock’s family estate, and partly because getting married was probably something you should tell your father about. 

Jim paced nervously around his quarters, glancing infrequently towards Spock, who was sitting at Jim’s desk, poised to place the call to New Vulcan.  His face was quickly returning to its regular green tint with the reconnection of their minds, and he had even been able to meditate the night before as Jim slept.  He noticed guiltily that Spock was still sporting large shadows under his eyes, and hoped they would fade in the coming days as Spock got more rest. 

“Are you sure I have to be here?  I mean, couldn’t you-”

“Ashayam, why are you anxious?” 

Jim stopped pacing and pinched the bridge of his nose, where a stress headache had started to form.  “I just – let’s face it, Spock, your dad doesn’t like me.”

Spock raised one eyebrow.  “That is not true.” 

“Seriously?” Jim crossed the small space and perched on the corner of the desk.  “The first time he ever _saw_ me, I was insulting you, which, if you’ll recall, led you _strangling me_ on the bridge.  And I’m sure he knows all about my academic dishonesty hearing, and-”

“Jim, my father does not dislike you; you remind him of my mother.  He never wished for me to endure the pain of losing a bondmate – a pain still very near for him, and one which I am quite likely to experience, as you are human.”

“Vulcan lifespans,” Jim breathed.  “Right.  I never thought about it that way. Spock, if you-”

“It does not concern me, Jim,” Spock said quickly, reaching out a hand to grasp Jim’s.  “You will always be worth the pain.” 

“I hate it when you say mushy shit like that,” Jim grumbled as he hopped off the desk and pulled a chair up next to the computer terminal.  “Gets me every damn time.  Okay, let’s call him.”

They waited while their call was connected, and when it finally went through, Jim thought Sarek looked surprised to see him sitting next to Spock.

“Captain.  Spock,” he said, holding up the ta’al.  Jim and Spock responded in kind. 

“Jim and I wished to speak to you about the _Enterprise_ ’s upcoming arrival at New Vulcan.”

“It was my understanding that, due to the Captain’s recovery, you would not be diverting your course to New Vulcan, but instead to a nearby Starbase,” Sarek responded, his voice flat, and if there was such a thing as a confused Vulcan, Jim thought he was probably looking at one right now.

_Wait, Spock, did you not tell him?_

Spock glanced briefly at Jim.  _I did not see the need to tell him about the bond.  It was my understanding that our relationship was to remain secret._

 _Spock, we’re calling him to tell him that we’re going to get_ married _in a few days!  You don’t think he might take this the wrong way?_

“Forgive me, Spock, but is there something I am missing?” Sarek said impatiently as he watched the non-verbal conversation take place between Spock and Jim. 

“Sorry, Ambassador, but – Spock and I formed a bond, back over the Christmas holidays.  We’re coming to New Vulcan to formalize that bond, with your blessing, sir.”

“He is _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock added, levelling his gaze at Sarek, whose eyes had turned dark at Jim’s words. 

Understanding dawned quickly, and Jim, so accustomed to reading Spock for any sign of emotion, saw it written on Sarek’s features with surprising clarity.  “I see.  In that case, Captain, you are most welcome in my house.  I will, however, remind you to keep the attendees to a minimum; T’Pau is unlikely to take kindly to the presence of strangers.”

“Poor Uhura,” Jim murmured under his breath. 

Sarek noticed.  “Might I suggest an additional ceremony on board the _Enterprise_ , if you are able to find a suitable person to officiate?”

“You know what?” Jim said, turning to Spock, a grin stretching slowly across his face.  “I think I know just the person.”

***

“So, who exactly is T’Pau?” Jim asked, tugging anxiously at the collar of his dress uniform.  Spock was seated next to him on the small shuttle, which was en route to New Vulcan.  They had decided on performing the bonding ceremony first, as soon as they had finished talking to Command, who had insisted on an audience before any leave time was taken.

The conversation with Admiral Archer had gone about as well as could be expected.  Jim had requested the presence of Spock, a request which had not been granted, and he was forced to recount his trials in the Klingon torture chamber with only Spock’s mental presence to comfort him.  When Jim had concluded, the Admiral had surveyed him over folded hands, pity etched clearly into the lines of his face.

“So you’re telling me Koloth was working independently of the Klingon Empire?”

“Yes, sir, at least, that was my impression.” 

“Interesting,” the Admiral said, leaning back in his chair.  His brown eyes were piercing, and as Jim felt another wave of affection flow from the bond, he relaxed a little further, allowing some of the tension to disappear from his shoulders. 

“Captain Kirk, you did well.  I’m going to recommend you for a commendation-”

“Thank you, sir, but I don’t need any more medals,” Jim said before he could bite back the words.  He wasn’t sure if he could stand having a commendation that reminded him of what he had endured at the hands of Koloth, of what the mission had nearly cost him. 

“Fair enough, but I can’t make any promises.  Given the extenuating circumstances, I’m also not going to be issuing a reprimand to your First Officer.  Make sure I don’t regret that action, Kirk.”

“No, sir, you won’t.”

“Is there anything else you needed to discuss with me?” Archer asked, his eyes softening slightly.  In that moment, Jim wished more than anything that Pike was still alive, because he was about to make the biggest tactical risk of his career.

“Yes, sir.  Spock and I are to be formally bonded on Vulcan this evening.” 

Archer’s face went perfectly blank, and there was a solid ten seconds of silence before he repeated, “Bonded?”

“Yes, sir.  The initial connection was made over our holiday shore leave on Terra.  It’s merely a ceremonial formality; the bond is already there and will remain, to my understanding, relatively unchanged.” 

“You’re marrying your First Officer,” Archer said slowly.  “Am I hearing this right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you aware that regulation-”

“Sir, there have been documented cases of married couples serving together on starships before.  Besides, you can’t afford to lose Spock and me – we’re the best command team you’ve got.”

Archer was silent, and Jim held his breath.  “Jim, you’re aware that this will affect how other people view your job performance.  It’s gonna change everything.” 

“In my view, sir, it already has.  We share a unique Vulcan link, a type of bond that pre-dates Surakian reform.  It was once formed by warriors, on the field of battle.  To break it would be… damaging.  To both of us.  We’re better for it.” 

“I guess it seems we have no choice.  I’ll get it cleared for you.  You’re a good team, and the public loves you.  You guys will be fine.  Are you having a ceremony on board for the crew?”

Jim grinned.  “’Course.  Everyone loves a good reception party.”

And that had been the end of it.  As Uhura had rightly pointed out, getting officially married by the standards of one Federation planet did excuse them from any further separation or discrimination based on their relationship.  Of course, that did not mean they would be exempt from the scrutiny of Command: Archer had told them that their relationship would be monitored closely to ensure they could still make decisions based on the good of the entire crew, even if it meant the death of a partner.  Jim didn’t mind the warning, though – in fact, the situation with Command was the least of his concerns.

T’Pau, it turned out, had to perform a cursory examination of Jim’s mind to ensure he was a suitable companion for Spock.  She apparently had no great love of humans, and distrusted outsiders – it was for this reason that Jim and Spock had not invited anyone planetside.  Jim, still fresh from the trauma inflicted by Koloth, was anxious about someone besides Spock coming that close to his mind, and was doing his best not to show it.

“She is a high priestess, and much revered in our society.  Do not be nervous.  She will see the t’hy’la bond, and she will have no issue performing the ritual.” 

“You keep saying that like it’s gonna make me feel better,” Jim grumbled, but in truth, he did feel slightly better.  He leaned his head against Spock’s shoulder, which was covered with the light material of traditional Vulcan robes, and closed his eyes, breathing in his bondmate’s scent.  It was comforting. 

Spock shifted his arm so that it was draped across Jim’s shoulders, and Jim felt himself dozing.  He was still not back to his former strength, despite the massive amounts of calories he’d been taking in the past few days and the, frankly, ridiculous amount of sleep he’d been getting.  Jim couldn’t remember the last time he had slept nine hours straight – it was extremely unusual for him, especially since he was prone to bouts of insomnia.  He suspected Spock may have had something to do with it. 

“Jim,” Spock said, shaking him slightly, what seemed like only seconds later.  “We have arrived.” 

“Mmm,” Jim moaned, reluctantly disentangling himself from Spock and bracing for the heat wave that awaited him outside the shuttle’s doors. 

As they exited the craft, a familiar face was there waiting for them. 

“Spock!” Jim exclaimed, and ran to hug his bondmate’s counterpart.  The elder Spock laughed and returned the hug, and as he did so, Jim felt a small flash of jealousy emitting from the bond.  He released the Ambassador and stepped back to his Spock, reaching for his hand. 

“Commander Spock,” the Ambassador said, raising his hand in the ta’al. 

“Ambassador,” Spock replied, returning the greeting. 

“If you will accompany me, I have a hovercar waiting to take us to the ceremonial grounds,” the Ambassador said, and they left the docking bay to escape into the welcome, cool interior of the hovercar.  Jim had underestimated how uncomfortable he would feel wearing his dress uniform in the heat of the desert planet, and envied Spock his robes. 

They chatted amiably about the development of the colony, Spock asking most of the questions as Jim watched the terrain pass by.  There were mountains in the distance, and low houses scattered across what appeared to be barren desert, although Jim recognized some sparse vegetation as they traveled.  Based on what he had seen in Spock’s memories, New Vulcan was slightly cooler and more suitable for plant life than had been Vulcan. 

“We’re here,” the Ambassador said, looking out the window.  Jim didn’t understand – they were at the feet of some low, rocky hills, and he couldn’t see anything even slightly resembling ceremonial grounds anywhere.  Seeming to sense his confusion, the Ambassador clarified, “It is a short walk, just around the edge of those rocks.  On Vulcan, the appointed place was much different.  This planet is a suitable replacement in atmospheric composition and biome, but much was lost upon the destruction of Vulcan.  Of course, much of our cultural traditions were not exempt.”

As they exited the hovercar, the sun hanging low on the horizon, Jim grasped Spock’s hand more firmly, seeking reassurance. 

_You will be fine.  She cannot find fault with you, Jim.  You are my t’hy’la, and our bond is one prized by my race.  She will not go deep into the meld, just deep enough to gauge your feelings and the strength of the bond._

_Okay.  I still might throw up on you._

_It might please you to know that my father reserved a house for us for the night, such that we might have something of a Terran “honeymoon” before we return to the_ Enterprise _for the wedding ceremony tomorrow._

_Really? He did that for us?_

_You are my bondmate, now one of my house.  He cares for you._

Jim glanced over at Spock and smiled as they entered a small enclosure, the stone beneath their feet smoothed down not by age, but by design. 

_This is the place of the koon-ut-kal-if-fee.  If this were a traditional marriage, we would be meeting here, at the appointed place, to fulfil a bond that is less than marriage but more than betrothal.  It is part of the Vulcan mating cycle, which I shall not disclose at this point.  In Standard, koon-ut-kal-if-fee translates roughly to marriage or challenge.  Before Surak, Vulcan males would kill for their mates.  This ceremony is, therefore, highly unusual, as it is not driven by biological necessity.  Marriages of love are not common on Vulcan; rather, Vulcans are bonded young, at age seven, and the mates are chosen logically._

_God, that sounds repressive._

_It is our way._

_Also, you need to tell me more about that Vulcan mating cycle.  Soon._

_Of course, Jim._

They did not need to wait long before Sarek and an unfamiliar woman came down the path and into the ceremonial grounds.  T’Pau, whom Jim took the woman to be, was an imposing figure, small and yet severe; he thought he remembered something from one of his Federation history classes about her being the only person to have ever turned down a seat on the Federation Council.  He suppressed a smile at the similarities between her choice and Spock’s refusal of the VSA’s offer. 

“T’Pau,” Spock said, approaching her and raising his hand in the ta’al.  Jim watched as she placed her fingers on his psi points and gave Spock what appeared to be a quick meld, for Spock stepped back after only a few seconds of contact. 

“Spock, thee has chosen a human,” T’Pau said, and although she must have known this fact upon arrival, Jim could not help but note the faint tone of surprise.  “Kirk, I request to share your mind to ensure it is fit.”

Jim tried to swallow, but his mouth was suddenly dry.  Spock was positively pouring warmth and reassurance across the bond, and with his assistance, Jim was able to take the requisite ten or so steps and bow his head to T’Pau.  She gently placed her fingers upon his meld points, and then she was there in his mind, but Spock had been right – her presence wasn’t nearly as invasive, and she seemed to be checking instead for –

“Thee are t’hy’la _._   The t’hy’la link is old, and rare.  I do not see any reason to forbid this bond.”

Jim let out a sigh of relief, and he felt Spock do much the same through their link. 

“If thee wishes to proceed, thee must kneel.”

Sarek and the Ambassador acting, in a sense, as witnesses, Jim and Spock knelt in the dusty sands of New Vulcan.  Their eyes met, and Jim found he could not look away. 

“Spock, thee has arrived at the appointed place, not to meet your betrothed in the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , but to choose thy own mate.  Name your choice.”

“As it was in the dawn of our days, as it is today, as it will be for all tomorrows, I make my choice.  James Tiberius Kirk, I choose thee to be my bondmate: parted from me and never parted, never and always touching and touched.” 

“Kirk, thee are prepared to become the property of Spock?”  At any other time, Jim may have made a joke about being the girl in the relationship, as he had apparently been given the traditional part of the female Vulcan.  Since, however, he was human and not yet technically married to Spock, he held his tongue and promised himself he’d give Spock a hard time later. 

“I am.”

T’Pau laid one hand on each of their psi points, and spoke the finalizing words.  “Then I name thee parted and never parted, never and always touching and touched.” 

Jim felt something like lightning flash through his mind: he experienced a brilliant moment of clarity, and then everything went dark. 

 

The first thing Jim was aware of was that he was lying down in a cool room, which marked a definite contrast to the sweltering heat of the New Vulcan late afternoon.  He realized belatedly that he must have lost consciousness after the bonding, and he felt embarrassment threaten to consume him before it was quelled by – _Spock_. 

“I am glad to see you awake,” Spock said, and Jim cracked his eyes to a bedroom filled with ochre light: the sun was setting outside their room, a magnificent sight Jim could see through the wide doors that were open to the desert sand. 

Spock was lying next to him, wearing nothing but regulation boxer briefs, and Jim felt his cock stir when he noticed that Spock was already half-hard.  The sex since their reconciliation had been slow, vanilla, with Jim topping so he could feel like he retained some control.  Jim thought he was ready for a change – but not now.  Later, when it was dark and the night would swallow their cries.

Jim glanced down and realized that Spock must have removed most of his clothing due to the heat – he was also clad only in boxer briefs, and he turned over onto his side to have better access to Spock’s lips, which were looking exceptionally kissable. 

“I’m glad to be awake,” Jim said as he leaned in to claim Spock’s lips.  “Wouldn’t have wanted to miss the sunset,” he murmured around the kiss, lazily trailing his mouth up Spock’s jaw and up to the tip of one pointed ear.  “Definitely wouldn’t have wanted to miss this.” 

Spock let Jim work his way back down Spock’s neck, sucking small green bruises into the tender skin, tonguing lightly around a nipple and then biting just softly enough to elicit a gasp.  Jim rearranged his legs so that he was straddling Spock, and very slowly, began to rut against his bondmate. 

The pace was languorous, the stimulation not enough to get either of them off, but quite enough to spur them to full hardness.  As the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the rocky horizon, Jim slipped his hand into Spock’s briefs and grasped his cock; Spock let out a small moan, and Jim felt several more beads of precome leak from the tip of his own penis.  Hearing Spock make helpless noises was, in Jim’s book, second only to Spock talking dirty. 

His bondmate mirrored his actions, reaching inside Jim’s shorts and beginning to stroke his cock with an expert hand, twisting and rubbing the bundle of sensitive nerves directly below the head in exactly the way Jim liked it.  The room had darkened into dusk before Jim panted, “Gonna-”

He came, and Spock followed.  They drifted. 

When Jim came back to full consciousness, it was to Spock moving to fetch a towel.  He returned to the bed, the room now almost completely dark, and cleaned the dried come off Jim’s stomach before doing the same to his own. 

“Come,” he said, offering his hand.  Jim took it, and Spock grabbed a blanket off the bed and led them outside, onto the still-warm sands of New Vulcan.  The air was still quite warm, although it was cooling; Jim didn’t expect that it would get too cold that night.  They went a short distance from the house before Spock laid down the blanket and settled on top of it.  Jim joined him, and they leaned back and watched the stars appear. 

“It’s so much like where we bonded,” Jim said as more distant suns blinked into existence above him.  “And yet even the air feels different.”

“This planet has two moons,” Spock said softly, glancing at the horizon, where one of them was beginning to rise. 

“Vulcan had none,” Jim recalled, shifting closer into Spock’s side.  They merely laid there in silence, looking at the sky, content to watch it deepen with the night.

“How many do you think we’ve been to?”

“I do not know.” 

“Not enough,” Jim sighed, reaching for Spock’s hand and finding it with ease. 

“The Jim Kirk of the other universe once said something very similar to my counterpart.  I believe he called it “criminal negligence” to leave so much space unexplored.” 

Jim laughed.  “Yeah, that does sound like something I’d say.”  Jim thought he could see the Milky Way spread out above him, to his right, but everything looked different from this part of space.

“Come on, Spock, there’s so much out there to see.  Where do you want to go?”

“As always, Jim, I shall defer to your good judgment.” 

Jim smiled and turned to kiss Spock.  It deepened, and as Spock placed his hand on the side of Jim’s face, he was lost.  The boundaries between their minds, already worn thin by the day’s events, disappeared entirely, until Jim was not altogether sure where he ended and Spock began.  But it did not matter.  To Jim, they were one person, limbs entangled on the warm sands of New Vulcan, under the infinite wonder of space.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just.... the epilogue...... left...............
> 
> oh my god i am so tired and im sorry this was up late I HAVE SO MUCH HOMEWORK AND I PROCRASTINATED SO HARD TODAY it took me approximately eight hours to write this chapter. the epilogue should be up sometime within the next few days! thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos/comments! you're all spectacular people :D


	8. Epilogue

“Bones, get your hands off me!”

“Dammit, Jim, were you born in a barn?  Your medals are six kinds of messed up-”

“Fucking things, don’t even know why we decided on dress uniforms anyways-”

“Because you’re a goddamn Starfleet officer, that’s why.  Now _stay still._ ” 

“Has she been manhandling you?” Jim exclaimed as Spock and Nyota came walking down the hallway.  Most of the crew, with the exception of the skeleton crew designated to manage the ship, were seated inside the _Enterprise_ ’s largest rec room – it seemed _everyone_ wanted to be there. 

 _It is the first marriage of a same-sex command team in Starfleet history, Jim,_ Spock reminded him yet again.  _Of course, that is not taking into account the tremendous respect many of the younger crew members hold for you._

 _You too,_ Jim said, frowning as he picked a strand of Nyota’s hair off Spock’s shoulder. 

_Perhaps._

Jim smiled slightly.  Although it had been hard to notice the night before, he had come to find that the bond between Spock and himself had, indeed, deepened; it took less effort on Jim’s part to communicate (he doubted Spock ever had much trouble), and the emotions that flowed between them were truer, less impressionistic, than they had been previously. 

Nyota bounced anxiously behind Spock as Bones took up his own place behind Jim: they were serving as Spock and Jim’s best-people. 

Bones clapped him lightly on the shoulder.  “You know what, kid?  I can’t believe it.  Never thought I’d see you settling down.” 

“This isn’t exactly how I’d always imagined your marriage, either, Spock,” Uhura chimed in as they waited for the music that would serve as their cue.  “Although to be honest, I featured _in_ it until…”  She did not finish her sentence, although everyone present knew she was talking about Khan.  It didn’t need to be said. 

“I’m really happy for you two,” she said, and as Bones opened his mouth to add something, the music began. 

They walked down the aisle, side by side, to an old Vulcan melody (which was, of course, mathematically and rhythmically perfect in every respect).  Ambassador Spock waited for them at the end of the long row of chairs, framed by bundles of blue flowers (quickly cultured by Sulu from the sample taken on Aurelius); his face was somber, but his eyes were welling with tears, and Jim suspected he knew the reason why. 

As the small party took up their positions on the slightly raised dais and the Ambassador began the ceremony, Jim found he could not tear his eyes from Spock’s: the happiness he was experiencing, played back to him in a feedback loop, made him giddy. 

When the Ambassador asked for their vows, Jim spoke first, as he and Spock had agreed. 

“Spock... When I first joined Starfleet, I didn’t do it for some greater end – for glory, wealth, fame.  I told you once, over a game of chess, that I’d always wanted to shrink the universe down to size.  I thought that, by joining Starfleet on a dare, I could find some bigger meaning to it all, something that would help me reconcile the vastness of space with my own insignificance.  I was an exile – we all were, rejected by a society content to live onworld, to never push their boundaries and create new experiences. 

“When we were on the Brooklyn Bridge, in the City on the Edge of Forever, and I saw the Statue of Liberty, I told you that the _Enterprise_ had become my own personal totem of freedom – my way of escape from Terra, my new home.  And while the _Enterprise_ is still home… Spock, this journey we’ve begun together?  Command could take the _Enterprise_ away from me tomorrow, and as long as you were with me, I would still be content.  We could go out, travel the stars – as long as we were out there, together, doing what we do best, I could live and die a happy man.  Because, for us, Spock… the journey itself is home.” 

Jim took a deep breath, and he thought he heard a few muffled sniffles from members of the crowd.  Spock was, apparently, gathering himself to recite his own vows.

“Jim.  My friend, my Captain.  I do not know when I began to love you, or when I fell in love with you, or when I found that I could not live in a world that did not have you in it.  You are aware I have no great talent for sentiment; as such, I often borrow the words of others, to express what I myself cannot vocalize.  I shall now rely upon the words of William Shakespeare, an author for whose works we share a passion, and a man who can more aptly write my emotions than I myself can speak them.”

Spock took a deep breath, and began his recitation:

                “Let me not to the marriage of true minds  
                Admit impediments.  Love is not love  
                Which alters when it alteration finds,  
                Or bends with the remover to remove:  
                O no! it is an ever-fixed mark  
                That looks on tempests and is never shaken;  
                It is the star to every wandering bark,  
                Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.  
                Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks  
                Within his bending sickle’s compass come:  
                Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,  
                But bears it out eve to the edge of doom.”

Jim felt a tear slide down his cheek. 

“Jim, I shall follow you anywhere – I will always be by your side until your end, or mine.”

The tears were flowing faster, now, and there was little Jim could do to stop them – Spock’s features, of course, were impassive, but Jim could feel the strength of his emotion, and it was enough.   

The Ambassador declared them wed, but Jim barely heard him before he was pulling Spock into his arms. 

They kissed, and it was done.

 

The reception had begun soon after, with delicious food provided by Scotty, who had programmed the replicators to produce foods native to both Vulcan and Terra.  Somehow, Jim’s crew had managed to get their hands on dozens of bottles of genuine alcohol, not the synthehol crap that the replicators spat out.  Sulu and Chekov were bartending to the great entertainment of their patrons: they were flipping bottles and pouring drinks with a perfectly synchronized flair.   Following a magnificent dinner, the crew had turned their attention towards something else entirely: dancing, and getting shitfaced drunk. 

Jim had ensured the cake was chocolate, so Spock was at least a little tipsy, but he wasn’t sure to where his bondmate had disappeared.  Jim was feeling pretty dizzy himself, but had maintained that he would not get drunk at his own wedding reception – he was the Captain, and had to maintain some semblance of propriety.

The darkness of the room, pounding of the bass, and flashing lights were beginning to give him a headache, so he went looking for Spock.  Pushing distractedly through a group of young Ensigns that were congratulating him enthusiastically on the wedding and the party, Jim nearly ran into Nyota, who appeared to be playing a drinking game with Scotty. 

“Uhura, have you seen Spock anywhere?” he shouted over the music. 

She looked up in surprise.  “No, aren’t you supposed to be keeping tabs on each other?”

“I – yeah – damn it, there are a lot of people!” Jim replied, frustrated. 

“Maybe he left!  You know how much he dislikes loud parties,” she suggested before draining another shot of whiskey in order to keep pace with Scotty. 

“Oh, right!  Thanks!”  Jim left them to it – he knew exactly where Spock was.

 

The Observation Deck was dark and silent, the planet of New Vulcan filling the rather expansive view.

“You did not need to leave the reception,” Spock said quietly as Jim moved to stand next to him. 

“I know,” Jim replied, and he twined his fingers with Spock’s.  They stood in silence for a few minutes, letting the weight of the air envelop them.

“I’m sorry, Spock.”

“I have told you, there is no need for apology.” 

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m still sorry.  And you were right, you know, in your vows – “it is an ever-fixed mark / That looks on tempests and is never shaken.”  I’ll never…” Jim found he could not say the words.  “Never again, Spock.”

“I know, ashayam.”

“So…” Jim ventured after a moment.  “What’s next?  Do we have a mission yet?”

“Yes,” Spock replied simply.  When Jim waited for elaboration, Spock turned to look at him.  “It entails you, me – and a bed.” 

Jim grinned.  “I love you.” 

Spock smiled as they made their way off the Observation Deck – a true smile, not just a quirk of his lips, and Jim felt his stomach lurch.

“I know.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And... finished. Thank you all so much for reading <3 It ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I'm very happy with the result.
> 
> If you're on tumblr, my Star Trek blog is tthylas.tumblr.com :)


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